E  BLUE  BOOK  NO. 
^y  E.  Haideman-JuUus 


145 


^  .t  Ghost  Stories 


EXLIBRIS 

WILLYS  A.  MYERS 

American  Vice-Consul 


LITTLE  BLUE  BOOK  NO. 

Edited  by  £.  Haldeman -Julius 


145 
Great  Ghost  Stories 


H  ALDEMAN-JULIUS  COMPANY 
OIRARD,  KANSAS 


Copyright 
Halderaan-Julius  Company 


PRINTED  IX  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

THE  PHANTOM  'RICKSHAW 
RuDYARD  Kipling 

"May  no  ill  dreams  disturb  my  rest, 
Nor  Powers  of  Darkness  me  molest." 

— Evening    Hymn. 

One  of  the  few  advantages  that  India  has 
over  England  is  a  certain  great  Knowability. 
After  five  years"  service  a  man  is  directly  or 
indirectly  acquainted  with  the  two  or  three 
hundred  Civilians  in  his  Province,  all  the 
Messes  of  ten  or  twelve  Regiments  and  Bat- 
teries, and  some  fifteen  hundred  other  people 
of  the  non-official  castes.  In  ten  years  his 
knowledge  should  be  doubled,  and  at  the  end 
of  twenty  he  knov/s,  or  knov/s  something  about, 
almost  every  Englishman  in  the  Empire,  and 
may  travel  anywhere  and  everywhere  without 
payfng  hotel-bills. 

Globe-trotters  who  expect  entertainment  as  a 
right,  have,  even  within  my  memory,  blunted 
this  open-heartedness,  but,  none  the  less,  to- 
day if  you  belong  to  the  Inner  C'-rcle  and  are 
neither  a  bear  nor  a  black  sheep  all  houses  are 
open  to  you  and  our  small  world  is  very  kind 
and  helpful. 

Rickett  of  Kamartha  stayed  with  Polder  of 
Kumaon,  some  fifteen  years  ago.  He  meant 
to  stay  two  nights  only,  but  was  knocked  down 
by  rheumatic  fever,  and  for  six  weeks  disor- 
ganized Polder's  establishment,  stopped  Pold- 
er's work,  and  nearly  died  in  Polder's  bed-room. 
Polder  behaves  as  though  he  had  been  placed 

J^083393 


4  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

under  eternal  obligation  by  Rickett,  and  yearly 
sends  the  little  Ricketts  a  box  of  presents  and 
toys.  It  is  the  same  everywhere.  The  men 
who  do  not  take  the  trouble  to  conceal  from 
you  their  opinion  that  you  are  an  incompetent 
ass,  and  the  women  who  blacken  your  charac- 
ter and  misunderstand  your  wife's  amusements, 
will  work  themselves  to  the  bone  in  your  be- 
half if  you  fall  sick  or  into  serious  trouble. 

Heatherlegh,  the  Doctor,  kept,  in  addition  to 
his  regular  practice,  a  hospital  on  his  private 
account — an  arrangement  of  loose-boxes  for 
Incurables,  his  friends  called  it — but  it  was 
really  a  sort  of  fitting-up  shed  for  craft  that 
had  been  damaged  by  stress  of  v/eather.  The 
v/eather  in  India  is  often  sultry,  and  since  the 
tale  of  bricks  is  a  fixed  quantity,  and  the  only 
liberty  allowed  is  permission  to  work  overtime 
and  get  no  thanks,  men  occasionally  break 
down  and  become  as  mixed  as  the  metaphors 
in  this  sentence. 

Heatherlegh  is  the  nicest  doctor  that  ever 
was,  and  his  invariable  prescription  to  all  his 
patients  is  "lie  low,  go  slow,  and  keep  cool." 
He  says  that  more  men  are  killed  by  overwork 
than  the  importance  of  this  world  justifies. 
He  maintains  that  overwork  slew  Pansay  who 
died  under  his  hands  about  three  years  ago. 
He  has,  of  course,  the  right  to  speak  authori- 
tatively, and  he  laughs  at  my  theory  that  there 
was  a  crack  in  Pansay's  head  and  a  little  bit 
of  the  Dark  World  came  through  and  pressed 
him  to  death.  "Pansay  went  off  the  handle," 
says  Heatherlegh,  "after  the  stimulus  of  long 
leave  at  Home.     He  may  or  he  may  not  have 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  5 

behaved  like  a  blackguard  to  Mrs.  Keith- 
Wessington.  My  notion  is  that  the  work  of 
the  Katabundi  Settlement  ran  him  off  his  legs, 
and  that  he  took  to  brooding  and  making  much 
of  an  ordinary  P.  &  0.  flirtation.  He  certainly 
was  engaged  to  Miss  Mannering,  and  she  cer- 
tainly broke  off  the  engagement.  Then  he  took 
a  feverish  chill  and  all  that  nonsense  about 
ghosts  developed  itself.  Overwork  started  his 
illness,  kept  it  alight,  and  killed  him,  poor 
devil.  Write  him  off  to  the  System — one  man 
to  do  the  work  of  two-and-a-half  men." 

I  do  not  believe  this.  I  used  to  sit  up  with 
Pansay  sometimes  when  Heatherlegh  was 
called  out  to  visit  patients  and  I  happened  to 
be  within  claim.  The  man  would  make  me 
most  unhappy  by  describing  in  a  low,  even 
voice  the  procession  of  men,  women,  children, 
and  devils  that  was  always  passing  at  the  bot- 
tom of  his  bed.  He  had  a  sick  man's  command 
of  language.  When  he  recovered  I  suggested 
that  he  should  write  out  the  whole  affair  from 
beginning  to  end,  knowing  that  ink  might  as- 
sist him  to  ease  his  mind.  When  little  boys 
have  learned  a  new  bad  word  they  are  never 
happy  till  they  have  chalked  it  up  on  a  door. 
And  this  also  is  Literature. 

He  was  in  a  high  fever  while  he  was  v/rit- 
ing,  and  the  blood-and-thunder  Magazine  style 
he  adopted  did  not  calm  him.  Two  months 
afterwards  he  was  reported  fit  for  duty,  but, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  urgently  needed 
to  help  an  undermanned  Commission  stagger 
through  a  deficit,  he  preferred  to  die;   vowing 


G  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

at  the  last  that  he  was  hag-ridden.  I  secured 
his  manuscript  before  he  died,  and  this  is  his 
version  of  the  affair,  dated  1885:  — 

My  doctor  tells  me  that  I  need  rest  and 
change  of  air.  It  is  not  improbable  that  I  shall 
get  both  ere  long — rest  that  neither  the  red- 
coated  orderly  nor  the  mid-day  gun  cju  break, 
and  change  of  air  far  beyond  that  which  any 
homeward-bound  steamer  can  give  me.  In  the 
meantime  I  am  resolved  to  stay  where  I  am; 
and,  in  flat  defiance  of  my  doctor's  orders,  to 
take  all  the  world  into  my  confidence.  You 
shall  learn  for  yourselves  the  precise  nature 
of  my  malady;  and  shall,  too,  judge  for  your- 
selves whether  any  man  born  of  v.'oman  on 
this  weary  earth  was  ever  so  tormented  as  I. 

Speaking  now  as  a  condemned  criminal 
might  speak  ere  the  drop-bolts  are  drawn,  my 
story,  wild  and  hideously  improbable  as  it  may 
appear,  demands  at  least  attention.  That  it 
will  ever  receive  credence  I  utterly  disbelieve. 
Two  months  ago  I  should  have  scouted  as  mad 
or  drunk  the  man  who  had  dared  tell  me  the 
like.  Two  months  ago  I  was  the  happiest  man 
in  India.  To-day,  from  Peshawar  to  the  sea, 
there  is  no  one  more  wretched.  My  doctor  and 
I  are  the  only  two  who  know  this.  His  ex- 
planation is  that  my  brain,  digestion  and  eye- 
sight are  all  slightly  affected;  giving  rise  to 
my  frequent  and  persistent  "delusions."  Delu- 
sions, indeed!  I  call  him  a  fool;  but  he  at- 
tends me  still  with  the  same  unwearied  smile, 
the  same  bxand  professional  manner,  the  same 
neatly-trimmed   red   whiskers,   till   I   begin  to 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  7 

suspect  that  I  am  an  ungrateful,  evil-tempered 
invalid.     But  you  shall  judge  for  yourselves. 

Three  years  ago  it  was  my  fortune — my  great 
misfortune — to  sail  from  Gravesend  to  Bombay, 
on  return  from  long  leave,  with  one  Agnes 
Keith-Wessington,  wife  of  an  officer  on  the 
Bombay  side.  It  does  not  in  the  least  concern 
you  to  know  what  manner  of  woman  she  was. 
Be  content  with  the  knowledge  that,  ere  the 
voyage  had  ended,  both  she  and  I  were  des- 
perately and  unreasoningly  in  love  with  one  an- 
other. Heaven  knows  that  I  can  make  the  ad- 
mission now  without  one  particle  of  vanity.  In 
matters  of  this  sort  there  is  always  one  who 
gives  and  another  who  accepts.  From  the  first 
day  of  our  ill-omened  attachment,  I  was  con- 
scious that  Agnes's  passion  was  a  stronger,  a 
more  dominant,  and — if  I  may  use  the  expres- 
sion— a  purer  sentiment  than  mine.  Whether 
she  recognized  the  fact  then,  I  do  not  know. 
Afterwards  it  was  bitterly  plain  to  both  of  us. 

Arrived  at  Bombay  in  the  spring  of  the  year, 
we  went  our  respective  ways,  to  meet  no  more 
for  the  next  three  or  four  months,  when  my 
leave  and  her  love  took  us  both  to  Simla.  There 
we  spent  the  season  together;  and  there  my 
fire  of  straw  burnt  itself  out  to  a  pitiful  end 
with  the  closing  year.  I  attempt  no  excuse. 
I  make  no  apology.  Mrs.  Wessington  had 
given  up  much  for  my  sake,  and  was  pre- 
pared to  give  up  all.  From  my  own  lips,  in 
August,  1882,  she  learnt  that  I  was  sick  of  her 
presence,  tired  of  her  company,  and  weary  of 
the  sound  of  her  voice.  Ninety-nine  women 
out  of  a  hundred  would  have  wearied  of  me  as 


8  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

I  wearied  of  them;  seventy-five  of  that  number 
would  have  promptly  avenged  themselves  by 
active  and  obtrusive  flirtation  with  other  men. 
Mrs.  Wessington  was  the  hundredth.  On  her 
neither  my  openly-expressed  aversion,  nor  the 
cutting  brutalities  with  which  I  garnished  our 
interviews  had  the  least  effect. 

"Jack,  darling!"  was  her  one  eternal  cuckoo- 
cry,  "I'm  sure  it's  all  a  mistake — a  hideous 
mistake;  and  we'll  be  good  friends  again  some 
day.    Please  forgive  me,  Jack,  dear." 

I  was  the  offender,  and  knew  it.  That  knowl- 
edge transformed  my  pity  into  passive  endur- 
ance, and,  eventually,  into  blind  hate — the  same 
instinct,  I  suppose,  which  prompts  a  man  to 
savagely  stamp  on  the  spider  he  has  but  half 
killed.  And  with  this  hate  in  my  bosom  the 
season  of  1882  came  to  an  end. 

Next  year  we  met  again  at  Simla — she  with 
her  monotonous  face  and  timid  attempts  at  rec- 
onciliation, and  I  with  loathing  of  her  in  every 
fiber  of  my  frame.  Several  times  I  could  not 
avoid  meeting  her  alone;  and  on  each  occasion 
her  words  were  identically  the  same.  Still  the 
unreasoning  wail  that  it  was  all  a  "mistake"; 
and  still  the  hope  of  eventually  "making 
friends."  I  might  have  seen,  had  I  cared  to 
look,  that  that  hope  only  was  keeping  her  alive. 
She  grew  more  wan  and  thin  month  by  month. 
You  will  agree  with  me,  at  least,  that  such  con- 
duct would  have  driven  any  one  to  despair.  It 
was  uncalled  for,  childish,  unwomanly.  I  main- 
tain that  she  was  much  to  blame.  And  again, 
sometimes,  in  the  black,  fever-stricken  night 
"watches,  I  have  begun  to  think  that  I  might 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  9 

have  iDeeii  a  b'ttle  kinder  to  her.  But  that 
really  is  a  "delusion."  I  could  not  have  con- 
tinued pretending  to  love  her  when  I  didn't; 
could  I?  It  would  have  been  unfair  to  us 
both. 

Last  year  we  met  again — on  the  same  terms 
as  before.  The  same  weary  appeals,  and  the 
same  curt  answers  from  my  lips.  At  last  I 
would  make  her  see  how  wholly  wrong  and 
hopeless  were  her  attempts  at  resuming  the  old 
relationship.  As  the  season  wore  on,  we  fell 
apart — that  is  to  say,  she  found  it  difficult  to 
meet  me,  for  I  had  other  and  more  absorbing 
interests  to  attend  to.  When  I  think  it  over 
quietly  in  my  sick-room,  the  season  of  1884 
seems  a  confused  nightmare  wherein  light  and 
shade  were  fantastically  intermingled — my 
courtship  of  little  Kitty  Mannering;  my  hopes, 
doubts  and  fears;  our  long  rides  together;  my 
trembling  avowal  of  attachment;  her  reply;  and 
now  and  again  a  vision  of  a  white  face  flitting 
by  in  the  'rickshaw  with  the  black  and  white 
liveries  I  once  watched  for  so  earnestly;  the 
wave  of  Mrs.  Wessington's  gloved  hand;  and, 
when  she  met  me  alone,  which  was  but  seldom, 
the  irksome  monotony  of  her  appeal.  I  loved 
Kitty  Mannering,  honestly,  heartily  loved  her, 
and  with  my  love  for  her  grew  my  hatred  for 
Agnes.  In  August  Kitty  and  I  were  engaged. 
The  next  day  I  met  those  accursed  "magpie" 
jhampanies  at  the  back  of  Jakko,  and,  moved  by 
some  passing  sentiment  of  pity,  stopped  to  tell 
Mrs.  Wessington  everything.  She  knew  it 
alueady. 

"So  I  hear  you're  engaged,  Jack  dear."    Then, 


10  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

without  a  moment's  pause:  "I'm  sure  it's  all  a 
mistake — a  hideous  mistake.  We  shall  be  as 
good  friends  some  day,  Jack,  as  we  ever  were." 

My  answer  might  have  made  even  a  man 
wince.  It  cut  the  dying  woman  before  me  like 
the  blow  of  a  whip.  •  "Please  forgive  me.  Jack; 
I  didn't  mean  to  make  you  angry;  but  it's  true, 
it's  true!" 

And  Mrs.  Wessington  broke  down  completely. 
I  turned  away  and  left  her  to  finish  her  journey 
in  peace,  feeling,  but  only  for  a  moment  or  two, 
that  I  had  been  an  unutterably  mean  hound.  I 
looked  back,  and  saw  that  she  had  turned  her 
'rickshaw  with  the  idea,  I  suppose,  of  over- 
taking me. 

The  scene  and  its  surroundings  were  photo- 
graphed on  my  memory.  The  rain-swept  sky 
(we  were  at  the  end  of  the  wet  weather),  the 
sodden,  dingy  pines,  the  muddy  road,  and  the 
black  powder-riven  cliffs  formed  a  gloomy  back- 
ground against  which  the  black  and  white 
liveries  of  the  jhampanies,  the  yellow-paneled 
'rickshaw  and  Mrs.  Wessington's  down-bowed 
golden  head  stood  out  clearly.  She  was  hold- 
ing her  handkerchief  in  her  left  hand  and  was 
leaning  back  exhausted  against  the  'rickshaw 
cushions.  I  turned  my  horse  up  a  bypath  near 
the  Sanjowlie  Reservoir  and  literally  ran  away. 
Once  I  fancied  I  heard  a  faint  call  of  "Jack!" 
This  may  have  been  imagination.  I  never 
stopped  to  verify  it.  Ten  minutes  later  I  came 
across  Kitty  on  horseback;  and,  in  the  delight 
of  a  long  ride  with  her,  forgot  all  about  the 
interview. 

A  week  later  Mrs.  Wessington  died,  and  the 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  11 

inexpressible  burden  of  her  existence  was  re- 
moved from  my  life.  I  went  Plainsward  per- 
fectly happy.  Before  three  months  were  over 
I  had  forgotten  all  about  her,  except  that  at 
times  the  discovery  of  some  of  her  old  letters 
reminded  me  unpleasantly  of  our  bygone  re- 
lationship. By  January  I  had  disinterred  what 
was  left  of  our  correspondence  from  among  my 
scattered  belongings  and  had  burnt  it.  At  the 
beginning  of  April  of  this  year,  1885,  I  was  at 
Simla — semi-deserted  Simla — once  more,  and 
was  deep  in  lover's  talks  and  walks  with  Kitty. 
It  was  decided  that  we  should  be  married  at  the 
end  of  June.  You  will  understand,  therefore, 
that,  loving  Kitty  as  I  did,  I  am  not  saying  too 
much  when  I  pronounce  myself  to  have  been, 
at  the  time,  the  happiest  man  in  India. 

Fourteen  delightful  days  passed  almost  before 
I  noticed  their  flight.  Then,  aroused  to  the 
sense  of  what  was  proper  among  mortals  cir- 
cumstanced as  we  were,  I  pointed  out  to  Kitty 
that  an  engagement-ring  was  the  outward  and 
visible  sign  of  her  dignity  as  an  engaged  girl; 
and  that  she  must  forthwith  come  to  Ham- 
ilton's to  be  measured  for  one.  Up  to  that 
moment,  I  give  you  my  word,  we  had  completely 
forgotten  so  trivial  a  matter.  To  Hamilton's 
we  accordingly  went  on  the  15th  of  April,  1885. 
Remember  that — whatever  my  doctor  may  say 
to  the  contrary — I  was  then  in  perfect  health, 
enjoying  a  well-balanced  mind  and  an  absolutely 
tranquil  spirit.  Kitty  and  I  entered  Hamilton's 
shop  together,  and  there,  regardless  of  the 
order  of  affairs,  I  measured  Kitty's  finger  for 
the  ring  in  the  presence  of  the  amused  assistant. 


12  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

The  ring  was  a  sapphire  with  two  diamonds. 
We  then  rode  out  dow^n  the  slope  that  leads  to 
the  Combermere  Bridge  and  Peliti's  shop. 

While  my  Waler  was  cautiously  feeling  his 
way  over  the  loose  shale,  and  Kitty  was  laugh- 
ing and  chattering  at  my  side — while  all  Simla, 
that  is  to  say  as  much  of  it  as  had  then  come 
from  the  Plains,  was  grouped  round  the  Read- 
ing-room and  Peliti's  veranda — I  was  aware 
that  some  one,  apparently  at  a  vast  distance, 
was  calling  mo  by  niy  Christian  name.  It  struck 
me  that  I  had  heard  the  voice  before,  but  when 
and  where  I  could  not  at  once  determine.  In 
the  short  space  it  took  to  cover  the  road  be- 
tween the  path  from  Hamilton's  shop  and  the 
first  plank  of  the  Combermere  Bridge  I  had 
thought  over  half-a-dozen  people  who  might 
have  committed  such  a  solecism,  and  had 
eventually  decided  that  it  must  have  been  some 
singing  in  my  ears.  Immediately  opposite 
Peliti's  shop  my  eye  was  arrested  by  the  sight 
of  four  jliampanics  in  black  and  white  livery, 
pulling  a  yellow-paneled,  cheap,  bazar  'rickshaw. 
In  a  moment  my  mind  flew  back  to  the  previous 
season  and  Mrs.  Wessington  with  a  sense  of 
irritation  and  disgust.  Was  it  not  enough  that 
the  woman  was  dead  and  done  with,  without 
her  black  and  white  servitors  reappearing  to 
spoil  the  day's  happiness?  Whoever  employed 
them  now  I  thought  I  would  call  upon,  and  ask 
as  a  personal  favor  to  change  her  jhamixinies* 
livery.  I  would  hire  the  men  myself,  and,  if 
necessary,  buy  their  coats  from  off  their  backs. 
It  is  impossible  to  say  here  what  a  flood  of  un- 
desirable memories  their  presence  evoked. 


CEAT   GHOoT  STORIES  13 

"Kitty,"  I  cried,  "there  are  poor  Mrs.  Wes- 
sington's  jhampanies  turned  up  again!  I  won- 
der who  has  them  now?" 

Kitty  had  known  Mrs.  Wessington  slightly 
last  season,  and  had  always  been  interested  in 
the  sickly  woman. 

"What?  Where?"  she  asked.  "I  can't  see 
them  anywhere." 

Even  as  she  spoke,  her  horse,  swerving  from 
a  laden  mule,  threw  himself  directly  in  front 
of  the  advancing  'rickshaw.  I  had  scarcely 
time  to  utter  a  word  of  warning  when,  to  my 
unutterable  horror,  horse  and  rider  passed 
through  men  and  carriage  as  if  they  had  been 
thin  air. 

"What's  the  matter?"  cried  Kitty;  "what 
made  you  call  out  so  foolishly,  Jack?  If  I  am 
engaged  I  don't  want  all  creation  to  know 
about  it.  There  was  lots  of  space  between 
the  mule  and  the  veranda;  and,  if  you  think 
I  can't  ride — There!" 

Whereupon  willful  Kitty  set  off,  her  dainty 
little  head  in  the  air,  at  a  hand-gallop  in  the 
direction  of  the  Band-stand;  fully  expecting,  as 
she  herself  afterwards  told  me,  that  I  should 
follow  her.  What  was  the  matter?  Nothing, 
indeed.  Either  that  I  was  mad  or  drunk,  or 
that  Simla  was  haunted  with  devils.  I  reined 
in  my  impatient  cob,  and  turned  round.  The 
'rickshaw  had  turned  too,  and  now  stood  im- 
mediately facing  me,  near  the  left  railing  of 
the  Combermere  Bridge. 

"Jack!  Jack,  darling."  (There  was  no  mis- 
take about  the  words  this  time:  they  rang 
through  my  brain  as  if  they  had  been  shouted 


14  GRHAT  GHOST  STORIES 

in  my  ear.)  "It's  some  hideous  mistake,  I'm 
sure.  Please  forgive  me,  Jack,  and  let's  be 
friends  again." 

The  'ricl^shaw-hood  had  fallen  back,  and  in- 
side, as  I  hope  and  daily  pray  for  the  death 
I  dread  at  night,  sat  Mrs.  Keith-Wessingtoii, 
handkerchief  in  hand,  and  golden  head  bowed 
on  her  breast. 

How  long  I  stared  motionless  I  do  not  know. 
Finally,  I  was  aroused  by  my  groom  taking 
the  Waler's  bridle  and  asking  whether  I  vv^as 
ill.  I  tumbled  off  my  horse  and  dashed,  half 
fainting,  into  Peliti's  for  a  glass  of  cherry- 
brandy.  There  two  or  three  couples  were 
gathered  round  the  coffee-tables  discussing  the 
gossip  of  the  day.  Their  trivialities  were  more 
comforting  to  me  just  then  than  the  consola- 
tions of  religion  could  have  been.  I  plunged 
into  the  midst  of  the  conversation  at  once; 
chatted,  laughed  and  jested  with  a  face  (when 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  it  in  a  mirror)  as  white 
and  drawn  as  that  of  a  corpse.  Three  or  four 
men  noticed  my  condition;  and,  evidently  set- 
ting it  down  to  the  results  of  over  many  pegs, 
charitably  endeavored  to  draw  me  apart  from 
the  rest  of  the  loungers.  But  I  refused  to  be 
led  away.  I  wanted  the  company  of  my  kind 
— as  a  child  rushes  into  the  midst  of  the  dinner- 
party after  a  fright  in  the  dark.  I  must  have 
talked  for  about  ten  minutes  or  so,  though  it 
seemed  an  eternity  to  me,  when  I  heard  Kitty's 
clear  voice  outside  inquiring  for  me.  In  an- 
other minute  she  had  entered  the  shop,  pre- 
pared to  roundly  upbraid  me  for  failing  so 
signally  in  my  duties.  Something  in  my  face 
stopped  her. 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  15 

*'Why,  Jack,"  she  cried,  "what  have  you  been 
doing?  What  has  happened?  Are  you  ill?" 
Thus  driven  into  a  direct  lie,  I  said  that  the 
sun  had  been  a  little  too  much  for  me.  It 
was  close  upon  five  o'clock  of  a  cloudy  April 
afternoon,  and  the  sun  had  been  hidden  all 
day.  I  saw  my  mistake  as  soon  as  the  words 
were  out  of  my  mouth:  attempted  to  recover 
it;  blundered  hopelessly  and  followed  Kitty,  in 
a  regal  rage,  out  of  doors,  amid  the  smiles  of 
my  acquaintances.  I  made  some  excuse  (I 
have  forgotten  what)  on  the  score  of  my  feel- 
ing faint;  and  cantered  away  to  my  hotel, 
leaving  Kitty  to  finish  the  ride  by  herself. 

In  my  room  I  sat  down  and  tried  calmly  to 
reason  out  the  matter.  Here  was  I,  Theobald 
Jack  Pansay,  a  well-educated  Bengal  Civilian 
in  the  year  of  grace  1885,  presumably  sane, 
certainly  healthy,  driven  in  terror  from  my 
sweetheart's  side  hy  the  apparition  of  a  woman 
who  had  been  dead  and  buried  eight  months 
ago.  These  were  facts  that  I  could  not  blink. 
Nothing  was  further  from  my  thought  than 
any  memory  of  Mrs.  Wessington  when  Kitty 
and  I  left  Hamilton's  shop.  Nothing  was  more 
utterly  commonplace  than  the  stretch  of  wall 
opposite  Feliti's.  It  was  broad  daylight.  The 
road  w^as  full  of  people;  and  yet  here,  look 
you,  in  defiance  of  every  law  of  probability, 
in  direct  outrage  of  Nature's  ordinance,  there 
had  appeared  to  me  a  face  from  the  grave. 

Kitty's  Arab  had  gone  through  the  'rickshaw: 
so  that  my  first  hope  that  some  woman  mar- 
velously  like  Mrs.  Wessington  had  hired  the 
carriage  and  the  coolies  with  their  old  livery 


16  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

was  lost.  Again  and  again  I  went  round  this 
treadmill  of  thought;  and  again  and  again 
gave  up  baffled  and  in  despair.  The  voice  was 
as  inexplicable  as  the  apparition.  I  had  or- 
iginally some  wild  notion  of  confiding  it  all  to 
Kitty;  of  begging  her  to  marry  me  at  once; 
and  in  her  arms  defying  the  ghostly  occupant 
of  the  'rickshaw.  "After  all,"  I  argued,  "the 
presence  of  the  'rJckshaw  is  in  itself  enough 
to  prove  the  existence  of  a  spectral  illusion. 
One  may  see  ghosts  of  m.en  and  women,  but 
surely  never  of  coolies  and  carriages.  The 
whole  thing  is  absurd.  Fancy  the  ghost  of  a 
hill-man!" 

Next  morning  I  sent  a  penitent  note  to  Kitty, 
imploring  her  to  overlook  my  strange  conduct 
of  the  previous  afternoon.  My  Divinity  was 
still  very  wroth,  and  a  personal  apology  was 
necessary.  I  explained,  with  a  fluency  born 
of  night-long  pondering  over  a  falsehood,  that  I 
had  been  attacked  with  a  sudden  palpitation 
of  the  heart — the  result  of  indigestion.  This 
eminently  practical  solution  bad  its  effect;  and 
Kitty  and  I  rode  out  that  afternoon  with  the 
shadow  of  my  first  lie  dividing  us. 

Nothing  would  please  her  save  a  canter  round 
Jakko.  With  my  nerves  still  unstrung  from 
the  previous  night  I  feebly  protested  against 
the  notion,  suggesting  Observatory  Hill,  Jutogh, 
the  Boileaugunge  road — anything  rather  than 
the  Jakko  round.  Kitty  was  angry  and  a  little 
hurt,  so  I  yielded  from  fear  of  provoking  fur- 
ther misunderstanding,  and  we  set  out  to- 
gether towards  Chota  Simla.  We  walked  a 
greater  part  of  the  way,  and,  according  to  our 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  1? 

custom,  cantered  from  a  mile  or  so  below  the 
Convent  to  the  stretch  of  level  road  by  the 
Sanjowlie  Reservoir.  The  wretched  horses  ap- 
peared to  fly,  and  my  heart  beat  quicker  and 
quicker  as  we  neared  the  crest  of  the  ascent. 
My  mind  had  been  full  of  Mrs.  Wessington 
all  the  afternoon;  and  every  inch  of  the  Jakko 
road  bore  witness  to  our  old-time  walks  and 
talks.  The  boulders  were  full  of  it;  the  pines 
sang  it  aloud  overhead;  the  rain-fed  torrents 
giggled  and  chuckled  unseen  over  the  shame- 
ful story;  and  the  wind  in  my  ears  chanted 
the  iniquity  aloud. 

As  a  fitting  climax,  in  the  middle  of  the 
level  men  call  the  Ladies'  Mile,  the  Horror 
was  awaiting  me.  No  other  'rickshaw  was  in 
sight — only  the  four  black  and  white  jham- 
panies,  the  yellow-paneled  carriage,  and  the 
golden  head  of  the  woman  within — all  ap- 
parently just  as  I  had  left  them  eight  months 
and  one  fortnight  ago!  For  an  instant  I  fancied 
that  Kitty  must  see  what  I  saw — we  were  so 
marvelously  sympathetic  in  all  things.  Her  next 
words  undeceived  me — "Not  a  soul  in  sight! 
Come  along,  Jack,  and  I'll  race  you  to  the 
Reservoir  buildings!"  Her  wiry  little  Arab 
was  off  like  a  bird,  my  Waler  followed  close 
behind,  and  in  this  order  we  dashed  under 
the  cliffs.  Half  a  minute  brought  us  within 
fifty  yards  of  the  'rickshaw.  I  pulled  my  Waler 
and  fell  back  a  little.  The  'rickshaw  was  di- 
rectly in  the  middle  of  the  road:  and  once 
more  the  Arab  passed  through  it,  my  horse 
following.  "Jack,  Jack,  dear!  Please  forgive 
me,"  rang  with  a  wail  in  my  ears,  and,  after 


18  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

an   interval:      "It's  all  a  mistake,  a  hideous 
mistake!" 

I  spurred  my  horse  like  a  man  possessed. 
When  I  turned  my  head  at  the  Reservoir  works 
the  black  and  white  liveries  were  still  waiting 
— patiently  waiting — under  the  gray  hillside, 
and  the  wind  brought  me  a  mocking  echo  of 
the  words  I  had  just  heard.  Kitty  bantered 
me  a  good  deal  on  my  silence  throughout  the 
remainder  of  the  ride.  I  had  been  talking  up 
till  then  wildly  and  at  random.  To  save  my 
life  I  could  not  speak  afterwards  naturally, 
and  from  Sanjowlie  to  the  Church  wisely  held 
my  tongue. 

I  was  to  dine  with  the  Mannerings  that  night 
and  had  barely  time  to  canter  home  to  dress. 
On  the  road  to  Elysium  Hill  I  overheard  two 
men  talking  together  in  the  dusk — "It's  a 
curious  thing,"  said  one,  "how  completely  all 
trace  of  it  disappeared.  You  know  my  wife 
was  insanely  fond  of  the  woman  (never  could 
see  anything  in  her  myself)  and  wanted  me  to 
pick  up  her  old  'rickshaw  and  coolies  if  they 
were  to  be  got  for  love  or  money.  Morbid  sort 
of  fancy  I  call  it,  but  I've  got  to  do  what  the 
Memsahil)  tells  me.  Would  you  believe  that 
the  man  she  hired  it  from  tells  me  that  all 
four  of  the  men,  they  were  brothers,  died  of 
cholera,  on  the  way  to  Hardwar,  poor  devils; 
and  the  'rickshaw  has  been  broken  up  by  the 
man  himself.  Told  me  he  never  used  a  dead 
Memsahib's  'rickshaw.  Spoilt  his  luck.  Queer 
notion,  wasn't  it?  Fancy  poor  little  Mrs.  Wes- 
sington  spoiling  any  one's  luck  except  her  own!" 
I  laughed  aloud  at  this  point |  and  my  laugh 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  19 

jarred  on  me  as  I  uttered  it.  So  there  were 
ghosts  of  'rickshaws  after  all,  and  ghostly  em- 
ployments in  the  other  world!  How  much  did 
Mrs,  Wessington  give  her  men?  What  were 
their  hours?    Where  did  they  go? 

And  for  visible  answer  to  my  last  question  I 
saw  the  infernal  thing  blocking  my  path  m  the 
twilight.  The  dead  travel  fast  and  by  short- 
cuts unknown  to  ordinary  coolies.  I  laughed 
aloud  a  second  time  and  checked  my  laughter 
suddenly,  for  I  was  afraid  I  was  going  mad. 
Mad  to  a  certain  extent  I  must  have  been,  for 
I  recollect  that  I  reined  in  my  horse  at  the 
head  of  the  'rickshaw,  and  politely  wished  Mrs. 
Wessington  "good  evening."  Her  answer  was 
one  I  knew  only  too  well.  I  listened  to  the 
end;  and  replied  that  I  had  heard  it  all  be- 
fore, but  should  be  delighted  if  she  had  any- 
thing further  to  say.  Some  malignant  devil 
stronger  than  I  must  have  entered  into  me  that 
evening,  for  I  have  a  dim  recollection  of  talk- 
ing the  commonplaces  of  the  day  for  five  min- 
utes to  the  thing  in  front  of  me. 

"Mad  as  a  hatter,  poor  devil — or  drunk. 
Max,  try  and  get  him  to  come  home." 

Surely  that  was  not  Mrs.  Wessington's  voice! 
The  two  men  had  overheard  me  speaking  to 
the  empty  air,  and  had  returned  to  look  after 
me.  They  were  very  kind  and  considerate, 
and  from  their  words  evidently  gathered  that 
I  was  extremely  drunk.  I  thanked  them  con- 
fusedly and  cantered  away  to  my  hotel,  there 
changed,  and  arrived  at  the  Mannerings'  ten 
minutes  late.     I  pleaded    the  darkness  of  the 


20  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

night  as  an  excuse;  was  rebuked  by  Kitty  for 
my  unlover-like  tardiness;  and  sat  down. 

The  conversation  liad  already  become  gen- 
eral; and,  under  cover  of  it,  I  was  addressing 
some  tender  small  talk  to  my  sweetheart  when 
I  was  aware  that  at  the  further  end  of  the  table 
a  short  red-whiskered  man  was  describing 
with  much  broidery  his  encounter  with  a  mad 
unknown  that  evening.  A  few  sentences  con- 
vinced me  that  he  was  repeating  the  incident 
of  half  an  hour  ago.  In  the  middle  of  the 
story  he  looked  round  for  applause,  as  profes- 
sional story-tellers  do,  caught  my  eye,  and 
straightway  collapsed.  There  was  a  moment's 
awkward  silence,  and  the  red-whiskered  man 
muttered  something  to  the  effect  that  he  had 
"forgotten  the  rest";  thereby  sacrificing  a 
reputation  as  a  good  story-teller  which  he  had 
built  up  for  six  seasons  past.  I  blessed  him 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  and — went  on 
with  my  fish. 

In  the  fullness  of  time  that  dinner  came  to 
an  end;  and  with  genuine  regret  I  tore  myself 
away  from  Kitty — as  certain  as  I  was  of  my 
own  existence  that  It  would  be  waiting  for  me 
outside  the  door.  The  red-whiskered  man,  who 
had  been  introduced  to  me  as  Dr.  Heatherlegh 
of  Simla,  volunteered  to  bear  me  company  as 
far  as  our  roads  lay  together.  I  accepted  his 
offer  with  gratitude. 

My  instinct  had  not  deceived  me.  It  lay  in 
readiness  in  the  Mall,  and,  in  what  seemed 
devilish  mockery  of  our  ways,  with  a  lighted 
head-lamp.  The  red-whiskered  man  went  to 
the  point  at  once,  in  a  manner  that  showed  he 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  21 

had  been  thinking  over  it  all  dinner  time. 

"I  say,  Pansay,  what  the  deuce  was  the  mat- 
ter with  you  this  evening  on  the  Elysium 
road?"  The  suddenness  of  the  question 
wrenched  an  answer  from  me  before  I  was 
aware, 

"That!"  said  I,  pointing  to  It. 

"That  may  be  either  D.  T.  or  eyes  for  aught 
I  know.  Now  you  don't  liquor.  I  saw  as  much 
at  dinner,  so  it  can't  be  D.  T.  There's  nothing 
whatever  w'here  you're  pointing,  though  you're 
sweating  and  trembling  with  fright  like  a 
scared  pony.  Therefore,  I  conclude  that  it's 
eyes.  And  I  ought  to  understand  all  about 
them.  Come  along  home  with  me.  I'm  on  the 
Blessington  lower  road." 

To  my  intense  delight  the  'rickshaw  instead 
of  waiting  for  us  kept  about  twenty  yards 
ahead — and  this,  too,  whether  we  walked, 
trotted,  or  cantered.  In  the  course  of  that  long 
ride  I  had  told  my  companion  almost  as  mxuch 
as  I  have  told  you  here. 

"Well,  you've  spoilt  one  of  the  best  tales  I've 
ever  laid  tongue  to,"  said  he,  "but  I'll  forgive 
you  for  the  sake  of  what  you've  gone  through. 
Now  come  home  and  do  what  I  tell  you;  and 
when  I've  cured  you,  young  man,  let  this  be  a 
lesson  to  you  to  steer  clear  of  women  and  in- 
digestible food  till  the  day  of  your  death." 

The  'rickshaw  kept  steadily  in  front;  and  my 
red-whiskered  friend  seemed  to  derive  great 
pleasure  from  my  account  of  its  exact  where- 
abouts. 

"Eyes,  Pansay — all  eyes,  brain  and  stomach; 
and   the    greatest   of   these   three    is   stomach. 


22  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

You've  too  much  conceited  brain,  too  little 
stomach,  and  thoroughly  unhealthy  eyes.  Get 
your  stomach  straight  and  the  rest  follows. 
And  all  that's  French  for  a  liver  pill.  I'll  take 
sole  medical  charge  of  you  from  this  hour; 
for  you're  too  interesting  a  phenomenon  to  be 
passed  over." 

By  this  time  we  were  deep  in  the  shadow 
of  the  Blessington  lower  road  and  the  'rick- 
shaw came  to  a  dead  stop  under  a  pine-clad, 
overhanging  shale  cliff.  Instinctively  I  halted 
too,  giving  my  reason.  Heatherlegh  rapped 
out  an  oath. 

"Now,  if  you  think  I'm  going  to  spend  a  cold 
night  on  the  hillside  for  the  sake  of  a  stom- 
aeh.-cum-hra.in-cu7n-eye  illusion  .  .  ,  Lord 
ha'  mercy!     What's  that?" 

There  was  a  muffled  report,  a  blinding 
smother  of  dust  just  in  front  of  us,  a  crack, 
the  noise  of  rent  boughs,  and  about  ten  yards 
of  the  cliffside — pines,  undergrowth,  and  all — . 
slid  down  into  the  road  below,  completely 
blocking  it  up.  The  uprooted  trees  swayed  and 
tottered  for  a  moment  like  drunken  giants  in 
the  gloom,  and  then  fell  prone  among  their  fel- 
lows with  a  thunderous  crash.  Our  two  horses 
stood  motionless  and  sweating  with  fear.  As 
soon  as  the  rattle  of  falling  earth  and  stone  had 
subsided,  my  companion  muttered:  "Man,  if 
we'd  gone  forward  we  should  have  been  ten 
feet  deep  in  our  graves  by  now!  'There  are 
more  things  in  heaven  and  earth'  .  .  .  Come 
home,  Pansay,  and  thank  God.  I  want  a  drink 
badly." 

We  retraced  our  way  over  the  Church  Ridge, 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  23 

and  I  arrived  at  Dr.  Heatherlegh's  house 
shortly  after  midnight. 

His  attempt  towards  my  cure  commenced  al- 
most immediately,  and  for  a  week  I  never  left 
his  sight.  Many  a  time  in  the  course  of  that 
week  did  I  bless  the  good  fortune  which  had 
thrown  me  in  contact  with  Simla's  best  and 
kindest  doctor.  Day  by  day  my  spirits  grew 
lighter  and  more  equable.  Day  by  day,  too,  I 
became  more  and  more  inclined  to  fall  in  with 
Heatherlegh's  "spectral  illusion"  theory,  impli- 
cating eyes,  brain,  and  stomach.  I  wrote  to 
kitty,  telling  her  that  a  slight  sprain  caused 
by  a  fall  from  my  horse  kept  me  indoors  for  a 
few  days;  and  that  I  should  be  recovered  be- 
fore she  had  time  to  regret  my  absence. 

Heatherlegh's  treatment  was  simple  to  a  de- 
gree. It  consisted  of  liver-pills,  cold-water 
baths  and  strong  exercise,  taken  in  the  dusk 
or  at  early  dawn — for,  as  he  sagely  observed: 
"A  man  with  a  sprained  ankle  doesn't  walk  a 
dozen  miles  a  day,  and  your  young  woman 
might  be  wondering  if  she  saw  you." 

At  the  end  of  the  week,  after  much  examina- 
tion of  pupil  and  pulse  and  strict  injunctions 
as  to  diet  and  pedestrianism,  Heatherlegh  dis- 
missed me  as  brusquely  as  he  had  taken  charge 
of  me.  Here  is  his  parting  benediction:  "Man, 
I  certify  to  your  mental  cure,  and  that's  as 
much  as  to  say  I've  cured  most  of  your  bodily 
ailments.  Now,  get  your  traps  out  of  this  as 
soon  as  you  can;  and  be  off  to  make  love  to 
Miss  Kitty." 

I  was  endeavoring  to  express  my  thanks  for 
his  kindness.    He  cut  me  short: 


24  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

"Don't  think  I  did  this  because  I  like  you. 
I  gather  that  you've  behaved  like  a  blackguard 
all  through.  But,  all  the  same  you're  a 
phenomenon,  and  as  queer  a  phenomenon  as 
you  are  a  blackguard.  Now,  go  out  and  see  if 
you  can  find  the  eyes-brain-and-stomach  busi- 
ness again.  I'll  give  you  a  lakh  for  each  time 
you  see  it." 

Half  an  hour  later  I  was  in  the  Mannerings' 
drawing-room  with  Kitty — drunk  with  the  in- 
toxication of  present  happiness  and  the  fore- 
knowledge that  I  should  never  more  be  troubled 
with  It's  hideous  presence.  Strong  in  the  sense 
of  my  new-found  security,  I  proposed  a  ride 
at  once;  and,  by  preference,  a  canter  round 
Jakko. 

Never  have  I  felt  so  well,  so  overladen  with 
vitality  and  mere  animal  spirits  as  I  did  on 
the  afternoon  of  the  30th  of  April.  Kitty  was 
delighted  at  the  change  in  my  appearance,  and 
complimented  me  on  it  in  her  delightfully 
frank  and  outspoken  manner.  We  left  the 
Mannerings'  house  together,  laughing  and 
talking,  and  cantered  along  the  Chota  Simla 
road  as  of  old. 

I  was  in  haste  to  reach  the  Sanjowlie  Res- 
ervoir and  there  make  my  assurance  doubly 
sure.  The  horses  did  their  best,  but  seemed 
all  too  slow  to  my  impatient  mind.  Kitty  was 
astonished  at  my  boisterousness.  "Why,  Jack!" 
she  cried  at  last,  "you  are  behaving  like  a 
child!     What  are  you  doing?" 

We  were  just  below  the  Convent,  and  from 
sheer    wantonness    I    was    making    my   Waler 


GREAT  GHOST   STOrillJS  25 

plunge  and  curvet  across  the  road  as  I  tickled 
it  with  the  loop  of  my  riding-whip. 

"Doing,"  I  answered,  "nothing,  dear.  That's 
just  it.  If  you'd  been  doing  nothing  for  a  week 
except  lie  up,  you'd  be  as  riotous  as  I. 

'Singing    and    murmuring    in    your    feastful    mirth. 

Joying  to  feel  yourself  alive  ; 
Lord  over  nature.  Lord  of  the  visible  Earth, 

Lord  of  the  senses  five.'  " 

My  quotation  was  hardly  out  of  my  lips  be- 
fore we  had  rounded  the  corner  above  the  Con- 
vent; and  a  few  yards  further  on  could  see 
across  to  Sanjowlie.  In  the  center  of  the  level 
road  stood  the  black  and  v.-liite  liveries,  the 
yellow-paneled  'rickshaw  and  Mrs.  Keith-Wes- 
sington.  I  pulled  up,  looked,  rubbed  my  eyes, 
and,  I  believe,  must  have  said  something.  The 
next  thing  I  knew  was  that  I  was  lying  face 
downward  on  the  road,  with  Kitty  kneeling 
above  me  in  tears. 

"Has  it  gone,  child?"  I  gasped.  Kitty  only 
wept  more  bitterly. 

"Has  what  gone?  Jack  dear:  what  does  it  all 
mean?  There  must  be  a  mistake  somewhere. 
Jack.  A  hideous  mistake."  Her  last  words 
brought  me  to  my  feet — mad — raving  for  the 
time  being. 

"Yes,  there  is  a  mistake  somewhere,"  I  re- 
peated, "a  hideous  mistake.  Come  and  look 
at  It!" 

T  have  an  indistinct  idea  that  I  dragged 
Kitty  by  the  wrist  along  the  road  up  to  where 
It  stood,  and  implored  her  for  pity's  sake  to 
speak  to  it;  to  tell  It  that  we  were  be- 
trothed!   that   neither    Death    nor    Hell    could 


26  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

break  the  tie  between  us;  and  Kitty  only  knows 
how  much  more  to  the  same  effect.  Now  and 
again  I  appealed  passionately  to  the  Terror  in 
the  'rickshaw  to  bear  witness  to  all  I  had  said, 
and  to  release  me  from  a  torture  that  was  kill- 
ing me.  As  I  talked  I  suppose  I  must  have  told 
Kitty  of  my  old  relations  with  Mrs.  Wessing- 
ton,  for  I  saw  her  listen  intently  with  white 
face  and  blazing  eyes. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Pansay,"  she  said,  "that's 
quite  enough.    Bring  my  horse," 

The  grooms,  impassive  as  Orientals  always 
are,  had  come  up  with  the  recaptured  horses; 
and  as  Kitty  sprang  into  her  saddle  I  caught 
hold  of  the  bridle  entreating  her  to  hear  me 
out  and  forgive.  My  answer  was  the  cut  of 
her  riding-whip  across  my  face  from  mouth  to 
eye,  and  a  word  or  two  of  farewell  that  even 
now  I  cannot  write  down.  So  I  judged,  and 
judged  rightly,  that  Kitty  knew  all;  and  I 
staggered  back  to  the  side  of  the  'rickshaw. 
My  face  was  cut  and  bleeding,  and  the  blow  of 
the  riding-whip  had  raised  a  livid  blue  welt  on 
it.  I  had  no  self-respect.  Just  then,  Heather- 
legh,  who  must  have  been  following  Kitty  and 
me  at  a  distance,  cantered  up. 

"Doctor,"  I  said,  pointing  to  my  face,  "here's 
Miss  Mannering's  signature  to  my  order  of 
dismissal  and  .  .  .  I'll  thank  you  for  that 
lakh  as  soon  as  convenient." 

Heatherlegh's  face,  even  in  my  abject  mis- 
ery, moved  me  to  laugh. 

"I'll  stake  my  professional  reputation" — he 
began.     "Don't  be  a  fool,"  I  whispered.    "I've 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  27 

lost  my  life's  happiness  and  you'd  better  take 
me  home." 

As  I  spoke  the  'rickshaw  was  gone.  Then  I 
lost  all  knowledge  of  what  was  passing.  The 
crest  of  Jakko  seemed  to  heave  and  roll  like 
the  crest  of  a  cloud  and  fail  in  upon  me. 

Seven  days  later  (on  the  7th  of  May,  that  is 
to  say)  I  was  aware  that  I  was  lying  in 
Heatherlegh's  room  as  weak  as  a  little  child. 
Heatherlegh  was  watching  me  intently  from 
behind  the  papers  on  his  writing  table.  His 
first  words  were  not  very  encouraging;  but  I 
was  too  far  spent  to  be  much  moved  by  them. 

"Here's  Miss  Kitty  has  sent  back  your  let- 
ters. You  corresponded  a  good  deal,  you  young 
people.  Here's  a  packet  that  looks  like  a  ring, 
and  a  cheerful  sort  of  a  note  from  Mannering 
Papa,  which  I've  taken  the  liberty  of  reading 
and  burning.  The  old  gentleman's  not  pleased 
with  you." 

"And  Kitty?"  I  asked  dully. 

"Rather  more  drawn  than  her  father  from 
what  she  says.  By  the  same  token  you  must 
have  been  letting  out  any  number  of  queer 
reminiscences  just  before  I  met  you.  Says 
that  a  man  who  would  have  behaved  to  a 
wom.an  as  you  did  to  Mrs.  Wessington  ought 
to  kill  himself  out  of  sheer  pity  for  his  kind. 
She's  a  hot-headed  little  virago,  your  mash. 
Will  have  it  too  that  you  were  suffering  from 
D.  T.  when  that  row  on  the  Jakko  road  turned 
up.  Says  she'll  die  before  she  ever  speaks  to 
you  again." 

I  groaned  and  turned  over  on  the  other  side. 

"Now    you've    got    your    choice,    my    friend. 


28  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

This  engagement  has  to  be  broken  off;  and  the 
Mannerings  don't  want  to  be  too  hard  on  you. 
Was  it  broken  through  D.  T.  or  epileptic  fits? 
Sorry  I  can't  offer  you  a  better  exchange  un- 
less you  prefer  hereditary  insanity.  Say  the 
word  and  I'll  tell  'em  it's  fits.  All  Simla  knows 
about  that  scene  on  the  Ladies'  Mile.  Come! 
I'll  give  you  five  minutes  to  think  it  over." 

During  those  five  minutes  I  believe  that  I 
explored  thoroughly  the  lowest  circles  of  the 
Inferno  which  it  is  permitted  man  to  tread  on 
earth.  And  at  the  same  time  I  myself  was 
watching  myself  faltering  through  the  dark 
labyrinths  of  doubt,  misery,  and  utter  despair. 
I  wondered,  as  Heatherlegh  in  his  chair  might 
have  wondered,  which  dreadful  alternative  I 
should  adopt.  Presently  I  heard  myself  an- 
swering in  a  voice  that  I  hardly  recognized: 

"They're  confoundedly  particular  about  mor- 
ality in  these  parts.  Give  'em  fits.  Heather- 
legh, and  my  love.  Now  let  me  sleep  a  bit 
longer." 

Then  my  two  selves  joined,  and  it  was  only 
I  (half  crazed,  devil-driven  I)  that  tossed  in 
my  bed,  tracing  step  by  step  the  history  of  the 
past  month. 

"But  I  am  in  Simla,"  I  kept  repeating  to 
myself.  "I,  Jack  Pansay,  am  in  Simla,  and 
there  are  no  ghosts  here.  It's  unreasonable 
of  that  woman  to  pretend  there  are.  Why 
couldn't  Agnes  have  left  me  alone?  I  never  did 
her  any  harm.  It  might  just  as  well  have  been 
me  as  Agnes.  Only  I'd  never  have  come  back 
on  purpose  to  kill  her.  Why  can't  I  be  left 
alone — left  alone  and  happy?" 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  29 

It  was  high  noon  when  I  first  awoke:  and 
the  sun  was  low  in  the  sky  before  I  slept — slept 
as  the  tortured  criminal  sleeps  on  his  rack,  too 
worn  to  feel  further  pain. 

Next  day  I  could  not  leave  my  bed.  Heather- 
legh  told  me  in  the  morning  that  he  had  re- 
ceived an  answer  from  Mr.  Mannering,  and 
that,  thanks  to  his  (Heatherlegh's)  friendly 
offices,  the  story  of  my  affliction  had  traveled 
through  the  length  and  breadth  of  Simla,  where 
I  was  on  all  sides  much  pitied. 

"And  that's  rather  more  than  you  deserve," 
he  concluded  pleasantly,  "though  the  Lord 
knows  you've  been  going  through  a  pretty  se- 
vere mill.  Never  mind;  v/e'll  cure  you  yet, 
you  perverse  phenomenon." 

I  declined  firmly  to  be  cured.  "You've  been 
much  too  good  to  me  already,  old  man,"  said 
I;  "but  I  don't  think  I  need  trouble  you 
further." 

In  my  heart  I  knev/  that  nothing  Heather- 
legh  could  do  Vv^ouid  lighten  the  burden  that 
had  been  laid  upon  me. 

With  that  knowledge  came  also  a  sense  of 
hopeless,  impotent  rebellion  agairsst  the  un- 
reasonableness of  it  all.  There  were  scores  of 
men  no  better  than  I  whose  punisliments  had 
at  least  been  reserved  for  another  world  and 
I  felt  that  it  was  bitterly,  cruelly  unfair  that  I 
alone  should  have  been  singled  out  for  so 
hideous  a  fate.  This  mood  would  in  time  give 
place  to  another  where  it  seemed  that  the 
'rickshaw  and  I  were  the  only  realities  in  a 
world  of  shadows;  that  Kitty  was  a  ghost;  that 
Mannering,  Heatherlegh,  and  all  the  other  men 


30  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

and  women  I  knew  were  all  ghosts  and  the 
great,  gray  hills  themselves  but  vain  shadows 
devised  to  torture  me.  From  mood  to  mood  I 
tossed  backwards  and  forwards  for  seven 
weary  days,  my  body  growing  daily  stronger 
and  stronger,  until  the  bed-room  looking-glass 
told  me  that  I  had  returned  to  everyday  life, 
and  was  as  other  m^en  once  more.  Curiously 
enough,  my  face  showed  no  signs  of  the  strug- 
gle I  had  gone  through.  It  was  pale  indeed, 
but  as  expressionless  and  commonplace  as 
ever.  I  had  expected  som^e  permanent  altera- 
tion— visible  evidence  of  the  disease  that  was 
eating  me  avv'ay.    I  found  nothing. 

On  the  15th  of  May  I  left  Heatherlegh's 
house  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning;  and  the 
instinct  of  the  bachelor  drove  me  to  the  Club. 
There  I  found  that  every  man  knew  my  story 
as  told  by  Heatherlegh,  and  was,  in  clumsy 
fashion,  abnormally  kind  and  attentive.  Never- 
theless I  recognized  that  for  the  rest  of  my 
natural  life  I  should  be  among,  but  not  of,  my 
fellows;  and  I  envied  very  bitterly  indeed  the 
laughing  coolies  on  the  Mall  below.  I  lunched 
at  the  Club,  and  at  four  o'clock  wandered  aim- 
lessly down  the  Mall  in  the  vague  hope  of  meet- 
ing Kitty.  Close  to  the  band-stand  the  black 
and  white  liveries  joined  me;  and  I  heard 
Mrs.  Wessington's  old  appeal  at  my  side.  I 
had  been  expecting  this  ever  since  I  came  out; 
and  was  only  surprised  at  her  delay.  The 
phantom  'rickshaw  and  I  went  side  by  side 
along  the  Chota  Simla  road  in  silence.  Close 
to  the  bazaar,  Kitty  and  a  man  on  horseback 
overtook  and  passed  us.    For  any  sign  she  gave 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  31 

I  might  have  been  a  dog  in  the  road.  She  did 
not  even  pay  me  the  compliment  of  quickening 
her  pace;  though  the  rainy  afternoon  had 
served  for  an  excuse. 

So  Kitty  and  her  companion,  and  I  and  my 
ghostly  Light-o'Love,  crept  round  Jakko  in 
couples.  The  road  was  steaming  with  water; 
the  pines  dripped  like  roof-pipes  on  the  rocks 
below,  and  the  air  was  full  of  fine,  driving 
rain.  Two  or  three  times  I  found  myself  say- 
ing to  myself  almost  aloud:  "I'm  Jack  Pansay 
on  leave  at  Simla — at  Simla!  Everyday,  ordi- 
nary Simla.  I  mustn't  forget  that — I  woustn't 
forget  that."  Then  I  would  try  to  recollect 
some  of  the  gossip  I  had  heard  at  the  Club; 
the  prices  of  So-and-So's  horses — anything,  in 
fact,  that  related  to  the  work-a-day  Anglo- 
Indian  world  I  knew  so  well.  I  even  repeated 
the  multiplication-table  rapidly  to  myself,  to 
make  quite  sure  that  I  was  not  taking  leave  of 
my  senses.  It  gave  me  much  comfort;  and 
must  have  prevented  my  hearing  Mrs.  Wessing- 
ton  for  a  time. 

Once  more  I  wearily  climbed  the  Convent 
slope  and  entered  the  level  road.  Here  Kitty 
find  the  man  started  off  at  a  canter,  and  I  was 
left  alone  with  Airs.  Wessington.  "Agnes,"  said 
I,  "will  you  put  back  your  hood  and  tell  me 
what  it  all  means?"  The  hood  dropped  noise- 
lessly and  I  XV3.S  face  to  face  with  my  dead  and 
buried  mistress.  She  was  wearing  the  dress 
in  which  I  had  last  seen  her  alive:  carried  the 
same  tiny  handkerchief  in  her  right  hand;  and 
the  same  card-case  in  her  left.  (A  woman 
eight  months  dead  with  a  card-case!)    I  had  to 


32  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

pin  myself  down  to  the  multiplication-table, 
and  to  set  both  hands  on  the  stone  parapet  of 
the  road  to  assure  myself  that  that  at  least  was 
real. 

"Agnes,"  A  repeated,  "for  pity's  sake  tell  me 
what  it  all  means."  Mrs.  Wessington  leant 
forward,  with  that  odd,  quick  turn  of  the  head 
I  used  to  know  so  well,  and  spoke. 

If  my  story  had  not  already  so  madly  over- 
lapped the  bounds  of  human  belief  I  should 
apologize  to  you  now.  As  I  know  that  no  one — ' 
no,  not  even  Kitty,  for  whom  it  is  written  as 
some  sort  of  justification  of  my  conduct — will 
believe  me,  I  will  go  on.  Mrs.  Wessington 
spoke  and  I  walked  with  her  from  the  San- 
jowlie  road  to  the  turning  below  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief's house  as  I  might  walk  by  the 
side  of  any  living  woman's  'rickshaw,  deep  in 
conversation.  The  second  and  most  tormenting 
of  my  moods  of  sickness  had  suddenly  laid  hold 
upon  me,  and  like  the  prince  in  'Tennyson's 
poem,  "I  seemed  to  move  amid  a  world  of 
ghosts."  There  had  been  a  garden-party  at  the 
Commander-in-Chief's,  and  we  two  joined  the 
crowd  of  homeward-bound  folk.  As  I  saw 
them  then  it  seemed  that  they  were  the 
shadows — impalpable  fantastic  shadows — that 
divided  for  Mrs.  Wessington's  'rickshaw  to 
pass  through.  What  w^e  said  during  the  course 
of  that  weird  interview  I  cannot — indeed,  I 
dare  not — tell.  Heatherlegh's  comments  would 
have  been  a  short  laugh  and  a  remark  that  I 
had  been  "mashing  a  brain-eye-and-stomach 
chimera."  It  was  a  ghastly  and  yet  in  some 
indefinable  way  a  marvelously  dear  experience. 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  33 

Could  it  be  possible,  I  wondered,  that  I  waa 
in  this  life  to  woo  a  second  time  the  woman 
I  had  killed  by  my  own  neglect  and  cruelty? 

I  met  Kitty  on  the  homeward  road — a 
shadow  among  shadows. 

If  I  were  to  describe  all  the  incidents  of  the 
next  fortnight  in  their  order,  my  story  would 
never  come  to  an  end;  and  your  patience 
would  be  exhausted.  Morning  after  morning 
and  evening  after  evening  the  ghostly  'rick- 
shaw and  I  used  to  wander  through  Simla  to- 
gether. "Wherever  I  went,  there  the  four  black 
and  white  liveries  followed  me  and  bore  me 
company  to  and  from  my  hotel.  At  the  theater 
I  found  them  amid  the  crowd  of  yelling 
jhampanies;  outside  the  club  veranda,  after  a 
long  evening  of  whist;  at  th.^  birthday  ball, 
waiting  patiently  for  my  reappearance;  and  in 
broad  daylight  when  I  went  calling.  Save  that 
it  cast  no  shadow,  the  'rickshaw  was  in  every 
respect  as  real  to  look  upon  as  one  of  wood 
and  iron.  More  than  once,  indeed,  I  have 
to  check  myself  from  warning  some  hard-riding 
friend  against  cantering  over  it.  More  than 
once  I  have  walked  down  the  Mall  deep  in  con- 
versation with  Mrs.  Wessington  to  the  un- 
speakable amazement  of  the  passers-by. 

Before  I  had  been  out  and  about  a  week  I 
learnt  that  the  "fit"  theory  had  been  discarded 
in  favor  of  insanity.  However,  I  made  no 
change  in  my  mode  of  life.  I  called,  rode,  and 
dined  out  as  freely  as  ever.  I  had  a  passion 
for  the  society  of  my  kind  which  I  had  never 
felt  before;  I  hungered  to  be  among  the  reali- 
ties of  life;  and  at  the  same  time  I  felt  vaguely 


34  gr:eat  ghost  stories 

unhappy  when  I  had  been  separated  too  long 
from  my  ghostly  companion.  It  would  be  al- 
most impossible  to  describe  my  varying  moods 
from  the  15th  of  May  up  to  today. 

The  presence  of  the  'rickshaw  filled  me  by 
turns  with  horror,  blind  fear,  a  dim  sort  of 
pleasure,  and  utter  despair.  I  dared  not  leave 
Simla;  and  I  knew  that  my  stay  there  was  kill- 
ing me.  I  knew,  moreover,  that  it  was  my  des- 
tiny to  die  slowly  and  a  little  every  day.  My 
only  anxiety  was  to  get  the  penance  over  as 
quietly  as  might  be.  Alternately  I  hungered  for 
a  sight  of  Kitty  and  watched  her  outrageous 
flirtations  with  my  successor — to  speak  more 
accurately,  my  successors  —  with  amused  in- 
terest. She  was  as  much  out  of  my  life  as  I 
was  out  of  hers.  By  day  I  wandered  with  Mrs. 
Wessington  almost  content.  By  night  I  im- 
plored Heaven  to  let  me  return  to  the  world  as 
I  used  to  know  it.  Above  all  these  varying 
moods  lay  the  sensation  of  dull,  numbing  won- 
der that  the  seen  and  the  unseen  should  mingle 
so  strangely  on  this  earth  to  hound  one  poor 
soul  to  its  grave. 

August  21th. — Heatherlegh  has  been  inde- 
fatigable in  his  attendance  on  me;  and  only 
yesterday  told  me  that  I  ought  to  send  in  an 
application  for  sick-leave.  An  application  to 
escape  the  company  of  a  phantom!  A  request 
that  the  Government  would  graciously  permit 
me  to  get  rid  of  five  ghosts  and  an  airy  'rick- 
shaw by  going  to  England!  Heatherlegh's 
proposition  moved  me  to  almost  hysterical 
laughter.    I  told  him  that  I  should  await  the 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  35 

end  quietly  at  Simla;  and  I  am  sure  that  the 
end  is  not  far  off.  Believe  me  that  I  dread  its 
advent  more  than  any  word  can  say;  and  I 
torture  myself  nightly  with  a  thousand  specu- 
lations as  to  the  manner  of  my  death. 

Shall  I  die  in  my  bed  decently  and  as  an 
English  gentleman  should  die;  or,  in  one  last 
walk  on  the  Mall,  will  my  soul  be  wrenched 
from  me  to  take  its  place  for  ever  and  ever  by 
the  side  of  that  ghastly  phantasm?  Shall  I 
return  to  my  old  lost  allegiance  in  the  next 
world,  or  shall  I  meet  Agnes  loathing  her  and 
bound  to  her  side  through  all  eternity?  Shall 
we  two  hover  over  the  scene  of  our  lives  till 
the  end  of  time?  As  the  day  of  my  death  draws 
nearer,  the  intense  horror  that  all  living  flesh 
feels  towards  escaped  spirits  from  beyond  the 
grave  grows  more  and  more  powerful.  It  is  an 
awful  thing  to  go  down  quick  among  thv>  dead 
with  scarcely  one  half  of  your  life  completed. 
It  is  a  thousand  times  more  awful  to  wait  as  1 
do  in  your  midst,  for  I  know  not  what  unim- 
aginable terror.  Pity  me,  at  least  on  the  score 
of  my  "delusion,"  for  I  know  you  will  never 
believe  what  I  have  written  here.  Yet  as 
surely  as  ever  a  man  was  done  to  death  by  the 
Powers  of  Darkness  I  am  that  man. 

In  justice,  too,  pity  her.  For  as  surely  as 
ever  woman  was  killed  by  man,  I  killed  Mrs. 
Wessington.  And  the  last  portion  of  my  pun- 
ishment is  even  now  upon  me. 


THE  APPARITION  OF  MRS.  VEAL 
Daniel  De  Foe 

the  preface 

This  relation  is  matter  of  fact,  and  attended 
with  such  circumstances,  as  may  induce  any- 
reasonable  man  to  believe  it.  It  was  sent  by  a 
gentleman,  a  justice  of  peace,  at  Maidstone,  in 
Kent,  and  a  very  intelligent  person,  to  his 
friend  in  London,  as  it  is  here  worded;  which 
discourse  is  attested  by  a  very  sober  and  un- 
derstanding gentlewoman,  a  kinswoman  of  the 
said  gentleman's,  who  lives  in  Canterbury, 
within  a  few  doors  of  the  house  in  which  the 
withinnamed  Mrs.  Bargrave  lives;  who  believes 
his  kinswoman  to  be  of  so  discerning  a  spirit, 
as  n(/t  to  be  put  upon  by  any  fallacy;  and  who 
positively  assured  him  that  the  whole  matter, 
as  it  is  related  and  laid  down,  is  really  true; 
and  what  she  herself  had  in  the  same  words, 
as  near  as  may  be,  from  Mrs.  Bargrave's  own 
mouth,  who,  she  knows,  had  no  reason  to  in- 
vent and  publish  such  a  story,  or  any  design 
to  forge  and  tell  a  lie,  being  a  woman  of  much 
honesty  and  virtue,  and  her  whole  life  a  course, 
as  it  were,  of  piety.  The  use  which  we  ought 
to  make  of  it,  is  to  consider,  that  there  is  a 
life  to  come  after  this,  and  a  just  God,  who 
will  retribute  to  every  one  according  to  the 
deeds  done  in  the  body;  and  therefore  to  re- 
flect upon  our  past  course  of  life  we  have  led 
in  the  world;  that  our  time  is  short  and  uncer- 
tain; and  that  if  we  would  escape  the  punish- 
ment of  the  ungodly,  and  receive  the  reward 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  87 

of  the  righteous,  which  is  the  laying  hold  of 
eternal  life,  we  ought,  for  the  time  to  come  to 
return  to  God  by  a  speedy  repentance,  ceasing 
to  do  evil,  and  learning  to  do  well:  to  seek 
after  God  early,  if  happily  He  may  be  found 
of  us,  and  lead  such  lives  for  the  future,  as 
may  be  well  pleasing  in  His  sight. 

A  RELATION    OF   THE   APPARITION    OF   MRS.  VEAL 

This  thing  is  so  rare  in  all  its  circumstances, 
and  on  so  good  authority,  that  my  reading  and 
conversation  has  not  given  me  anything  like 
it:  it  is  fit  to  gratify  the  mose  ingenious  and 
serious  inquirer.  Mrs.  Bargrave  is  the  person 
to  whom  Mrs.  Veal  appeared  after  her  death; 
she  is  my  intimate  friend,  and  I  can  avouch  for 
her  reputation,  for  these  last  fifteen  or  sixteen 
years,  on  my  own  knowledge;  and  I  can  con- 
firm the  good  character  she  had  from  her 
youth,  to  the  time  of  my  acquaintance.  Though, 
since  this  relation,  she  is  calumniated  by  some 
people,  that  are  friends  to  the  brother  of  this 
Mrs.  Veal,  who  appeared;  who  think  the  rela- 
tion of  this  appearance  to  be  a  reflection,  and 
endeavor  what  they  can  to  blast  Mrs.  Bargrave's 
reputation,  and  to  laugh  the  story  out  of  coun- 
tenance. But  by  the  circumstances  thereof, 
and  the  cheerful  disposition  of  Mrs,  Bargrave, 
notwithstanding  the  ill-usage  of  a  very  wicked 
husband,  there  is  not  yet  the  least  sign  of  de- 
jection in  her  face;  nor  did  I  ever  hear  her  let 
fall  a  desponding  or  murmuring  expression; 
nay,  not  when  actually  under  her  husband's 
barbarity;  which  I  have  been  witness  to,  and 
several  other  persons  of  undoubted  reputation. 

Now  you  must  know,  Mrs.  Veal  was  a  maiden 


SS  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

gentlewoman  of  about  thirty  years  of  age,  and 
for  some  years  last  past  had  been  troubled 
with  fits;  which  were  perceived  coming  on  her, 
by  her  going  off  from  her  discourse  very 
abruptly  to  some  impertinence.  She  was  main- 
tained by  an  only  brother,  and  kept  his  house 
in  Dover.  She  was  a  very  pious  woman,  and 
her  brother  a  very  sober  man  to  all  appear- 
ance; but  now  he  does  all  he  can  to  null  or 
quash  the  story.  Mrs.  Veal  was  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  Mrs.  Bargrave  from  her  childhood 
Mrs.  Veal's  circumstances  were  then  mean;  her 
father  did  not  take  care  of  his  children  as  he 
ought,  so  that  they  were  exposed  to  hardships; 
and  Mrs.  Bargrave,  in  those  days,  had  as  un- 
kind a  father,  though  she  wanted  neither  for 
food  nor  clothing,  whilst  Mrs.  Veal  wanted  for 
both;  i.i.somuch  that  she  would  often  say,  Mrs. 
Bargrave,  you  are  not  only  the  best,  but  the 
only  friend  I  have  in  the  world,  and  no  circum- 
stances of  life  shall  ever  dissolve  my  friend- 
ship. They  would  often  condole  each  other's 
adverse  fortunes,  and  read  together  Drelincourt 
upon  Death,  and  other  good  books;  and  so,  like 
two  Christian  friends,  they  comforted  each 
other  under  their  sorrow. 

Some  time  after,  Mrs.  Veal's  friends  got  him 
a  place  in  the  custom-house  at  Dover,  which  oc- 
casioned Mrs.  Veal,  by  little  and  little,  to  fall 
off  from  her  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Bargrave, 
though  there  was  never  any  such  thing  as  a 
quarrel;  but  an  indifferency  came  on  by  de- 
grees, till  at  last  Mrs.  Bargrave  had  not  seen 
her  in  two  years  and  a  half;  though  above  a 
twelvemonth  of  the  time  Mrs.  Bargrave  hath 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  39 

been  absent  from  Dover,  and  this  last  half 
year  has  been  in  Canterbury  about  two  months 
of  the  time,  dwelling  in  a  house  of  her  own. 

In  this  house,  on  the  8th  of  September,  1705, 
she  was  sitting  alone  in  the  forenoon,  thinking 
over  her  unfortunate  life,  and  arguing  herself 
into  a  due  resignation  to  providence,  though 
her  ,  condition  seemed  hard.  And,  said  she,  I 
have  been  provided  for  hitherto,  and  doubt  not 
but  I  shall  be  still;  and  am  well  satisfied  that 
my  afflictions  shall  end  when  it  is  most  fit  for 
me:  and  then  took  up  her  sewing-work,  which 
she  had  no  sooner  done,  but  she  hears  a  knock- 
ing at  the  door.  She  went  to  see  who  was 
there,  and  this  proved  to  be  Mrs,  Veal,  her  old 
friend,  who  was  in  a  riding-habit.  At  that 
moment  of  time  the  clock  struck  twelve  at 
noon. 

Madam,  says  Mrs.  Bargrave,  I  am  surprised 
to  see  you,  you  have  been  so  long  a  stranger; 
but  told  her,  she  was  glad  to  see  her,  and  of- 
fered to  salute  her;  which  Mrs.  Veal  complied 
with,  till  their  lips  almost  touched;  and  then 
Mrs.  Veal  drew  her  hand  across  her  own  eyes, 
and  said,  I  am  not  very  well;  and  so  waived  it. 
She  told  Mrs.  Bargrave,  she  was  going  a  jour- 
ney, and  had  a  great  mind  to  see  her  first. 
But,  says  Mrs.  Bargrave,  how  came  you  to  take 
a  journey  alone?  I  am  amazed  at  it,  because  I 
know  you  have  a  fond  brother.  Oh!  says  Mrs. 
Veal,  I  gave  my  brother  the  slip,  and  came 
away  because  I  had  so  great  a  desire  to  see  you 
before  I  took  my  journey.  So  Mrs.  Bargrave 
went  in  with  her,  into  another  room  within  the 
first,  and  Mrs.  Veal  sat  her  down  in  an  elbow- 


40  GREAT   GHOST   STORIES 

chair,  in  which  Mrs.  Bargrave  was  sitting  when 
she  heard  Mrs.  Veal  knock.  Then  says  Mrs. 
Veal,  My  dear  friend,  I  am  come  to  renew  our 
old  friendship  again,  and  beg  your  pardon  for 
my  breach  oi  it;  and  if  you  can  forgive  me, 
you  are  the  best  of  women.  O,  says  Mrs.  Bar- 
grave,  do  not  mention  such  a  thing;  I  have  not 
had  an  uneasy  thought  about  it;  I  can  easily 
forgive  it.  What  did  you  think  of  me?  said 
Mrs.  Veal.  Says  Mrs.  Bargrave,  I  thought  you 
were  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  that  pros- 
perity had  made  you  forget  yourself  and  me. 
Then  Mrs.  Veal  reminded  Mrs.  Bargrave  of  the 
many  friendly  offices  she  did  her  in  former 
days,  and  much  of  the  conversation  they  had 
with  each  other  in  the  times  of  their  adversity; 
what  books  they  read,  and  what  comfort,  in 
particular,  they  received  from  Drelincourt's 
Book  of  Death,  which  was  the  best,  she  said, 
on  that  subject  ever  written.  She  also  men- 
tioned Dr.  Sherlock,  the  tVvO  Dutch  books  which 
were  translated,  written  upon  death,  and  sev- 
eral others.  But  Drelincourt,  she  said,  had  the 
clearest  notions  of  death,  and  of  the  future 
state,  of  any  who  had  handled  that  subject. 
Then  she  asked  Mrs.  Bargrave,  whether  she 
had  Drelincourt.  She  said,  Yes.  Says  Mrs. 
Veal,  Fetch  it.  And  so  Mrs.  Bargrave  goes  up 
stairs  and  brings  it  down.  Says  Mrs.  Veal, 
Dear  Mrs.  Bargrave,  if  the  eyes  of  our  faith 
were  as  open  as  the  eyes  of  our  body,  we  should 
see  numbers  of  angels  about  us  for  our  guard. 
The  notions  we  have  of  heaven  now,  are  noth- 
ing like  what  it  is,  as  Drelincourt  says;  there- 
fore be  comforted  under  your  afflictions,  and 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  41 

believe  that  the  Almighty  has  a  particular  re- 
gard to  you;  and  that  your  afflictions  are 
marks  of  God's  favor;  and  when  they  have 
done  the  business  they  are  sent  for,  they  shall 
be  removed  from  you.  And  believe  me,  my 
dear  friend,  believe  what  I  say  to  you,  one 
minute  of  future  happiness  will  infinitely  re- 
ward ,  you  for  all  your  sufferings.  For,  I  can 
never  believe  (and  claps  her  hand  upon  her 
knee  with  great  earnestness,  which  irffleed  ran 
though  most  of  her  discourse),  that  ever  God 
will  suffer  you  to  spend  all  your  days  in  this 
afflicted  state;  but  be  assured,  that  your  af- 
flictions shall  leave  you,  or  you  them,  in  a  short 
time.  She  spake  in  that  pathetical  and 
heavenly  manner,  that  Mrs.  Bargrave  wept  sev- 
eral times,  she  was  so  deeply  affected  with  it. 
Then  Mrs.  Veal  mentioned  Dr.  Kenrick's 
Ascetick,  at  the  end  of  which  he  gives  an  ac- 
count of  the  lives  of  the  primitive  Christians. 
Their  pattern  she  recommended  to  our  imita- 
tion, and  said,  their  conversation  was  not  like 
this  of  our  age:  For  now,  says  she,  there  is 
nothing  but  frothy,  vain  discourse,  which  is 
far  different  from  theirs.  Theirs  was  to  edifi- 
cation, and  to  build  one  another  up  in  faith; 
so  that  they  were  not  as  we  are,  nor  are  we 
as  they  were:  but,  says  she,  we  ought  to  do  as 
they  did.  There  was  an  hearty  friendship 
among  them;  but  where  is  it  now  to  be  found? 
Says  Mrs.  Bargrave,  It  is  hard  indeed  to  find 
a  true  friend  in  these  days.  Says  Mrs.  Veal, 
Mr.  Norris  has  a  fine  copy  of  verses,  called 
Friendship  in  Perfection,  which  I  wonderfully 
admire.     Have  you  seen  the  book?  says  Mrs. 


42  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

VeaL  No,  says  Mrs.  Bargrave,  but  I  have  the 
verses  of  my  own  writing  out.  Have  you?  says 
Mrs,  Veal,  then  fetch  them.  "Which  she  did 
from  above  stairs,  and  offered  them  to  Mrs. 
Veal  to  read,  who  refused,  and  waived  the 
thing,  saying,  holding  down  her  head  would 
make  it  ache;  and  then  desired  Mrs.  Bargrave 
to  read  them  to  her,  which  she  did.  As  they 
were  admiring  friendship,  Mrs.  Veal  said,  Dear 
Mrs.  Bargrave,  I  shall  love  you  for  ever.  In 
these  verses  there  is  twice  used  the  word 
Elysian.  Ah!  says  Mrs.  Veal,  these  poets  have 
such  names  for  heaven.  She  would  often  draw 
her  hands  across  her  own  eyes,  and  say,  Mrs. 
Bargrave,  do  not  you  think  I  am  mightily  im- 
paired by  my  fits?  No,  says  Mrs.  Bargrave,  I 
think  you  look  as  ^vell  as  ever  I  knew  you. 
After  all  this  discourse,  which  the  apparition 
put  in  much  finer  words  than  Mrs.  Bargrave 
said  she  could  pretend  to,  and  as  much  more 
than  she  can  remember,  (for  it  cannot  be 
thought,  that  an  hour  and  three  quarters'  con- 
versation could  all  be  retained,  though  the 
main  of  it  she  thinks  she  does),  she  said  to 
Mrs.  Bargrave,  she  would  have  her  write  a 
letter  to  her  brother,  and  tell  him,  she  would 
have  him  give  rings  to  such  and  such;  and 
that  there  was  a  purse  of  gold  in  her  cabinet, 
and  that  she  would  have  two  broad  pieces 
given  to  her  cousin  Watson. 

Talking  at  this  rate,  Mrs.  Bargrave  thought 
that  a  fit  was  coming  upon  her,  and  so  placed 
herself  in  a  chair  just  before  her  knees,  to 
keep  her  from  falling  to  the  ground,  if  her  fits 
should    occasion   it:    for   the   elbow-chair,   she 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  43 

thought,  would  keep  her  from  falling  on  either 
side.  And  to  divert  Mrs.  Veal,  as  she  thought, 
took  hold  of  her  gown-sleeve  several  times,  and 
commended  it.  Mrs.  Veal  told  her,  it  was  a 
scowered  silk,  and  newly  made  up.  But  for 
all  this,  Mrs.  Veal  persisted  in  her  request,  and 
told  Mrs.  Bargrave,  she  must  not  deny  her: 
and  she  would  have  her  tell  her  brother  all 
their,  conversation,  when  she  had  opportunity. 
Dear  Mrs.  Veal,  says  Mrs.  Bargrave,  this  seems 
so  impertinent,  that  I  cannot  tell  how  to  com- 
ply with  it;  and  what  a  mortifying  story  will 
our  conversation  be  to  a  young  gentleman? 
Why,  says  Mrs.  Bargrave,  it  is  much  better, 
methinks,  to  do  it  yourself.  No,  says  Mrs. 
Veal,  though  it  seems  impertinent  to  you  now, 
you  will  see  more  reason  for  it  hereafter.  Mrs. 
Bargrave  then,  to  satisfy  her  importunity,  was 
going  to  fetch  a  pen  and  ink;  but  Mrs.  Veal 
said.  Let  it  alone  now,  but  do  it  when  I  am 
gone;  but  you  must  be  sure  to  do  it:  which  was 
one  of  the  last  things  she  enjoined  her  at  part- 
ing; and  so  she  promised  her. 

Then  Mrs.  Veal  asked  for  Mrs.  Bargrave's 
daughter;  she  said,  she  was  not  at  home: 
But  if  you  have  a  mind  to  see  her,  says  Mrs. 
Bargrave,  I'll  send  for  her.  Do,  says  Mrs. 
Veal.  On  which  she  left  her,  and  went  to  a 
neighbor's  to  seek  for  her;  and  by  the  time 
Mrs.  Bargrave  was  returning,  Mrs.  Veal  was 
got  without  the  door  in  the  street,  in  the  face 
of  the  beast-market,  on  a  Saturday,  which  is 
market-day,  and  stood  ready  to  part,  as  soon 
as  Mrs.  Bargrave  came  to  her.  She  asked  her, 
why  she  was  in  such  haste.    She  said  she  must 


44  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

be  going,  though  perhaps  she  might  not  go  her 
journey  till  Monday;  and  told  Mrs.  Bargrave, 
she  hoped  she  should  see  her  gain  at  her 
cousin  Watson's,  before  she  went  whither  she 
was  going.  Then  she  said,  she  would  take  her 
leave  of  her,  and  walked  from  Mrs.  Bargrave 
in  her  view,  till  a  turning  interrupted  the 
sight  of  her,  which  was  three-quarters  after 
one  in  the  afternoon. 

Mrs.  Veal  died  the  7th  of  September,  at 
twelve  o'clock  at  noon  of  her  fits,  and  had  not 
above  four  hours'  senses  before  her  death,  in 
which  time  she  received  the  sacrament.  The 
next  day  after  Mrs.  Veal's  appearing,  being 
Sunday,  Mrs.  Bargrave  was  mightily  indisposed 
with  a  cold,  and  a  sore  throat,  that  she  could 
not  go  out  that  day;  but  on  Monday  morning 
she  sent  a  person  to  Captain  Watson's,  to 
know  if  Mrs.  Veal  was  there.  They  wondered 
at  Mrs.  Bargrave's  inquiry;  and  sent  her  word, 
that  she  was  not  there,  nor  was  expected.  At 
this  answer  Mrs.  Bargrave  told  the  maid  she 
had  certainly  mistook  the  name,  or  made  some 
blunder.  And  though  she  was  ill,  she  put  on 
her  hood,  and  went  herself  to  Captain  Watson's 
though  she  knew  none  of  the  family,  to  see  if 
Mrs.  Veal  was  there  or  not.  They  said,  they 
wondered  at  her  asking,  for  that  she  had  not 
been  in  town;  they  were  sure,  if  she  had,  she 
would  have  been  there.  Says  Mrs.  Bargrave, 
I  am  sure  she  was  with  me  on  Saturday  almost 
two  hours.  They  said,  it  was  impossible;  for 
they  must  have  seen  her  if  she  had.  In  comes 
Captain  Watson,  while  they  were  in  dispute, 
and  said,   that  Mrs.   Veal  was  certainly  dead, 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  45 

and  her  escutcheons  were  making.  This 
strangely  surprised  Mrs.  Bargrave,  when  she 
sent  to  the  person  immediately  who  had  the 
care  of  them,  and  found  it  true.  Then  she  re- 
lated the  whole  story  to  Captain  Watson's  fam- 
ily, and  what  gown  she  had  on,  and  how 
striped;  and  that  Mrs.  Veal  told  her,  it  was 
scowered.  Then  Mrs.  Watson  cried  out,  You 
have  seen  her  indeed,  for  none  knew,  but  Mrs. 
Veal  and  myself,  that  the  gown  was  scowered. 
And  Mrs.  Watson  owned,  that  she  described 
the  gown  exactly:  For,  said  she,  I  helped  her 
to  make  it  up.  This  Mrs.  Watson  blazed  all 
about  the  town,  and  avouched  the  demonstra- 
tion of  the  truth  of  Mrs.  Bargrave's  seeing  Mrs. 
Veal's  apparition.  And  Captain  Watson  carried 
two  gentlemen  immediately  to  Mrs.  Bargrave's 
house,  to  hear  the  relation  of  her  own  mouth. 
And  when  it  spread  so  fast,  that  gentlemen 
and  persons  of  quality,  the  judicious  and 
skeptical  part  of  the  world,  flocked  in  upon  her, 
it  at  last  became  such  a  task,  that  she  was 
forced  to  go  out  of  the  way.  For  they  were, 
in  general,  extremely  satisfied  of  the  truth  of 
the  thing,  and  plainly  saw  that  Mrs.  Bargrave 
was  no  hypochondraic;  for  she  always  appears 
with  such  a  cheerful  air,  and  pleasing  mien, 
that  she  has  gained  the  favor  and  esteem  of  all 
the  gentry;  and  it  is  thought  a  great  favor, 
if  they  can  but  get  the  relation  from  her  own 
mouth.  I  should  have  told  you  before,  that 
Mrs.  Veal  told  Mrs.  Bargrave,  that  her  sister 
and  brother-in-law  were  just  come  down  from 
London  to  see  her.  Says  Mrs.  Bargrave,  How 
came  you  to  order  matters  so  strangely?     It 


46  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

could  not  be  helped,  says  Mrs.  Veal.  And  her 
brother  and  sister  did  come  to  see  her,  and  en- 
tered the  town  of  Dover  just  as  Mrs.  Veal  was 
expiring.  Mrs.  Bargrave  asked  her  whether 
she  would  drink  some  tea.  Says  Mrs.  Veal,  I 
do  not  care  if  I  do;  but  I'll  warrant  you,  this 
mad  fellow  (meaning  Mrs.  Bargrave's  hus- 
band) has  broke  all  your  trinkets.  But,  says 
Mrs.  Bargrave,  I'll  get  something  to  drink  in 
for  all  that;  but  Mrs.  Veal  waived  it,  and  said. 
It  is  no  matter,  let  it  alone;  and  so  it  passed. 

All  the  time  I  sat  with  Mrs.  Bargrave,  which 
was  some  hours,  she  recollected  fresh  sayings 
of  Mrs.  Veal.  And  one  material  thing  more 
she  told  Mrs.  Bargrave,  that  old  Mr.  Breton 
allowed  Mrs.  Veal  ten  pounds  a  year;  which 
was  a  secret,  and  unknown  to  Mrs.  Bargrave, 
till  Mrs.  Veal  told  it  her. 

Mrs.  Bargrave  never  varies  in  her  story; 
which  puzzles  those  who  doubt  of  the  truth,  or 
are  unwilling  to  believe  it.  A  servant  in  the 
neighbor's  yard,  adjoining  to  Mrs.  Bargrave's 
house,  heard  her  talking  to  somebody  an  hour 
of  the  time  Mrs.  Veal  was  with  her.  Mrs. 
Bargrave  went  out  to  her  next  neighbor's  the 
very  moment  she  parted  with  Mrs.  Veal,  and 
told  her  what  ravishing  conversation  she  had 
with  an  old  friend,  and  told  the  whole  of  it. 
Drelincourt's  Book  of  Death  is,  since  this  hap- 
pened, bought  up  strangely.  And  it  is  to  be 
observed,  that  notwithstanding  all  the  trouble 
and  fatigue  Mrs.  Bargrave  has  undergone  upon 
this  account,  she  never  took  the  value  of  a 
farthing,   nor   suffered   her   daughter   to   take 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  47 

anything  of  anybody,  and  therefore  can  have 
no  interest  in  telling  the  story. 

But  Mr.  Veal  does  what  he  can  to  stifle  the 
matter,  and  said  he  would  see  Mrs.  Bargrave; 
but  yet  it  is  certain  matter  of  fact  that  he 
has  been  at  Captain  Watson's  since  the  death 
of  his  sister,  end  yet  never  went  near  Mrs. 
Bargrave;  and  some  of  his  friends  report  her 
to  be  a  liar,  and  that  she  knew  of  Mr.  Breton's 
ten  pounds  a  ysar.  But  the  person  who  pre- 
tends to  say  so,  has  the  reputation  of  a  no- 
torious liar,  among  persons  whom  I  know  to 
be  of  undoubted  credit.  Now  Mr.  Veal  is  more 
of  a  gentleman  than  to  say  she  lies;  but  says, 
a  bad  husband  has  crazed  her.  But  she  needs 
only  present  herself,  and  it  will  effectually 
confute  that  pretense.  Mr.  Veal  says,  he  asked 
his  sister  on  her  death-bed,  whether  she  had  a 
mind  to  dispose  of  anything?  And  she  said, 
No.  Now,  the  things  which  Mrs.  Veal's  appari- 
tion would  have  disposed  of,  were  so  trifling, 
and  nothing  of  justice  aimed  at  in  their  dis- 
posal, that  the  design  of  it  appears  to  me  to 
be  only  in  order  to  make  Mrs.  Bargrave  so  to 
demonstrate  the  truth  of  her  appearance,  as  to 
satisfy  the  world  of  the  reality  thereof,  as  to 
what  she  had  seen  and  heard;  and  to  secure 
her  reputation  among  the  reasonable  and  un- 
derstanding part  of  mankind.  And  then  again, 
Mr.  Veal  owns,  that  there  was  a  purse  of  gold; 
but  it  was  not  found  in  her  cabinet,  but  in  a 
comb-box.  This  looks  improbable;  for  that  Mrs. 
Watson  owned,  that  Mrs.  Veal  was  so  very  care- 
ful_pf  the  key  of  the  cabinet,  that  she  would 
trns?  nobody  with  it.    And  if  so,  no  doubt  she 


48  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

would  not  trust  her  gold  out  of  it.  And  Mrs. 
Veal's  often  drawing  her  hand  over  her  eyes, 
and  asking  Mrs.  Bargrave  whether  her  fits 
had  not  impaired  her,  looks  to  me  as  if  she  did 
it  on  purpose  to  remind  Mrs.  Bargrave  of  her 
fits,  to  prepare  her  not  to  think  it  strange  that 
she  should  put  her  upon  writing  to  her  brother 
to  dispose  of  rings  and  gold,  which  looked  so 
much  like  a  dying  person's  request;  and  it 
took  accordingly  with  Mrs.  Bargrave,  as  the  ef- 
fects of  her  fits  coming  upon  her;  and  was  one 
of  the  many  instances  of  her  wonderful  love  to 
her,  and  care  of  her,  that  she  should  not>^e  af- 
frighted; w.iich  indeed  appears  in  her  whole 
management,  particularly  in  her  coming  to  her 
in  the  day-time,  waiving  the  salutation,  and 
when  she  was  alone;  and  then  the  manner  of 
her  parting,  so  prevent  a  second  attempt  to 
salute  her. 

Now,  why  Mr.  Veal  should  think  this  relation 
a  reflection,  as  it  is  plain  he  does,  by  his  en- 
deavoring to  stifle  it,  I  cannot  imagine;  be- 
cause the  generality  believe  her  to  be  a  good 
spirit,  her  discourse  was  so  heavenly.  Her  two 
great  errands  were  to  comfort  Mrs.  Bargrave 
in  her  affliction,  and  to  ask  her  forgiveness  for 
the  breach  of  friendship,  and  with  a  pious  dis- 
course to  encourage  her.  So  that,  after  all, 
to  suppose  that  Mrs.  Bargrave  could  hatch  such 
an  invention  as  this  from  Friday  noon  till  Sat- 
urday noon,  supposing  that  she  knew  of  Mrs. 
Veal's  death  the  very  first  moment,  without 
jumbling  circumstances,  and  without  any  in- 
terest too;  she  must  be  more  witty,  fortunate, 
and  wicked  too,  than  any  indifferent  person,  I 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  49 

dare  say,  will  allow.  I  asked  Mrs.  Bargrave 
several  times,  if  she  was  sure  she  felt  the  gown? 
She  answered  modestly.  If  my  senses  be  to  be 
relied  upon,  I  am  sure  of  it.  I  asked  her,  if 
she  heard  a  sound  when  she  clapped  her  hand 
upon  her  knee?  She  said,  she  did  not  remem- 
ber she  did;  but  said  she  appeared  to  be  as 
much  a  substance  as  I  did,  who  talked  with  her. 
And  I  may,  said  she,  be  as  soon  persuaded,  that 
your  apparition  is  talking  to  me  now,  as  that 
I  did  not  really  see  her:  for  I  was  under  no 
manner  of  fear,  and  received  her  as  a  friend, 
and  parted  with  her  as  such.  I  would  not,  says 
she,  give  one  farthing  to  make  any  one  be- 
lieve it:  I  have  no  interest  in  it;  nothing  but 
trouble  is  entailed  upon  me  for  a  long  time,  for 
aught  I  know;  and  had  it  not  come  to  light  by 
accident,  it  would  never  have  been  made  public. 
But  now,  she  says,  she  will  make  her  own  pri- 
vate use  of  it,  and  keep  herself  out  of  the  way 
as  much  as  she  can;  and  so  she  has  done  since. 
She  says.  She  had  a  gentleman  who  came  thirty 
miles  to  her  to  hear  the  relation;  and  that  she 
had  told  it  to  a  room  full  of  people  at  a  time. 
Several  particular  gentlemen  have  had  the 
story  from  Mrs.  Bargrave's  own  mouth. 

This  thing  has  very  much  affected  me,  and  I 
am  as  well  satisfied,  as  I  am  of  the  best- 
grounded  matter  of  fact.  And  why  we  should 
dispute  matter  of  fact,  because  we  cannot  solve 
things  of  which  we  can  have  no  certain  or  dem- 
onstrative notions,  seems  strange  to  me.  Mrs.. 
Bargrave's  authority  and  sincerity  alone,  would 
have  been  undoubted  in  any  other  case. 


($0        ©BEAT  GHOST  STORIES 

TO  THE  READER 

The  origin  of  the  foregoing  curious  story  seems 
to  have  been  as  follows:  — 

An  adventurous  bookseller  had  ventured  to 
print  a  considerable  edition  of  a  work  by  the 
Reverend  Charles  Drelincourt,  minister  of  the 
Calvinist  church  in  Paris,  and  translated  by  M. 
D'AssTgny,  under  the  title  of  "The  Christian's 
Defense  against  the  Fear  of  Death,  with  sev- 
eral directions  how  to  prepare  ourselve^  to  die 
well."  But  however  certain,  the  prospect  of 
death,  it  is  not  so  agreeable  (unfortunately)  as 
to  invite  the  eager  contemplation  of  the  public; 
and  Drelincourt's  book,  being  neglected,  lay  a 
dead  stock  on  the  hands  of  the  publisher.  In 
this  emergency,  he  applied  to  De  Foe  to  assist 
him  (by  dint  of  such  means  as  were  then,  as 
well  as  now,  pretty  well  understood  in  the 
literary  world)  in  rescuing  the  unfortunate 
book  from  the  literary  death  to  which  general 
neglect  seemed  about  to  consign  it. 

De  Foe's  genius  and  audacity  devised  a  plan 
which,  for  assurance  and  ingenuity,  defied  even 
the  powers  of  Mr.  Puff  in  the  Critic:  for  who 
but  himself  would  have  thought  of  summoning 
up  a  ghost  from  the  grave  to  bear  witness  in 
favor  of  a  halting  body  of  divinity?  There  is  a 
matter-of-fact,  business-like  style  in  the  whole 
account  of  the  transaction,  which  bespeaks  in- 
effable powers  of  self-possession.  The  narrative 
is  drawn  up  "by  a  gentleman,  a  Justice  of  Peace 
at  Maidstone,  in  Kent,  a  very  intelligent  per- 
son."   And,  moreover,  "the  discourse  is  attested 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  51 

by  a  very  sober  gentlewoman,  v.ho  lives  In 
Canterbury,  within  a  few  doors  of  the  house 
in  which  Mrs.  Bargrave  lives."  The  JusLice  be- 
lieves his  kinswoman  to  be  of  so  discerning  a 
spirit,  as  not  to  be  put  upon  by  any  fallacy — 
and  the  kinswoman  positively  assures  the  Jus- 
tice, "that  the  whole  matter,  as  it  is  related 
and  laid  down,  is  really  true,  and  what  she  her- 
self heard,  as  near  as  may  be,  from  Mrs.  Bar- 
grave's  own  mouth,  who,  she  knows,  had  no 
reason  to  invent  or  publish  such  a  story,  or  any 
design  to  forge  and  tell  a  lie,  being  a  woman 
of  so  much  honesty  and  virtue,  and  her  whole 
life  a  course,  as  it  were,  of  pietf."  Skepticism 
itself  could  not  resist  this  triple  court  of  evi- 
dence so  artfully  combined,  the  Justice  attest- 
ing for  the  discerning  spirit  of  the  sober  and 
understanding  gentlewoman  his  kinswoman, 
and  his  kinswoman  becoming  bail  for  the  verac- 
ity of  Mrs.  Bargrave.  And  here,  gentle  reader, 
admire  the  simplicity  of  those  days.  Had  Mrs. 
Veal's  visit  to  her  friend  happened  in  our 
time,  the  conductors  of  the  daily  press  would 
have  given  the  word,  and  seven  gentlemen  unto 
the  said  press  belonging,  would,  with  an  obe- 
dient start,  have  made  off  for  x<:ingston,  for 
Canterbury,  for  Dover, — for  Kamchatka  if  nec- 
essary,— to  pose  the  Justice,  cross-examine  Mrs. 
Bargrave,  confront  the  sober  and  understand- 
ing kinswoman,  and  dig  Mrs.  Veal  up  from  her 
grave,  rather  than  not  get  to  the  bottom  of  the 
story.  But  in  our  time  we  doubt  and  scrutinize; 
our  ancestors  wondered  and  believed. 

Before   the  story   is   commenced,   the   under- 
standing   gentlewoman     (not    the    Justice    o£ 


52  GREAT   GHOST  STOIUES 

Peace),  who  is  the  reporter,  takes  some  pains 
to  repel  the  objections  made  against  the  story 
by  some  of  the  friends  of  Mrs.  Veal's  brother, 
who  consider  the  marvel  as  an  aspersion  on 
their  family,  and  do  what  they  can  to  laugh  it 
out  of  countenance.  Indeed,  it  is  allowed,  with 
admirable  impartiality,  that  Mr.  Veal  is  too 
much  of  a  gentleman  to  suppose  Mrs.  Bargrave 
invented  the  story — scandal  itself  c^uld  scarce 
have  supposed  that — although  one  notorious 
liar,  who  is  chastised  towards  the  conclusion  of 
the  story,  ventures  to  throw  out  such  an  in- 
sinuation. ■  No  reasonable  or  respectable  per- 
son, however,  could  be  found  to  countenance  the 
suspicion,  and  Mr.  Veal  himself  opined  that 
Mrs.  Bargrave  had  been  driven  crazy  by  a  cruel 
husband,  and  dreamed  the  whole  story  of  the 
apparition.  Now  all  this  is  sufficiently  artful. 
To  have  vouched  the  fact  as  universally  known, 
and  believed  by  every  one,  nem.  con.,  would  not 
have  been  half  so  satisfactory  to  a  skeplic  as 
to  allow  fairly  that  the  narrative  had  been  im- 
pugned, and  hint  at  the  character  of  one  of 
those  skeptics,  and  the  motives  of  another,  as 
sufficient  to  account  for  their  want  of  belief. 
Now  to  the  fact  itself. 

Mrs.  Bargrave  and  Mrs.  Veal  had  been  friends 
in  youth,  and  had  protested  their  attachment 
should  last  as  long  as  they  lived;  but  when  Mrs. 
Veal's  brother  obtained  an  office  in  the  costoms 
at  Dover,  some  cessation  of  their  intimacy  en- 
sued, "Though  without  any  positive  quarrel." 
Mrs.  Bargrave  had  removed  to  Canterbury,  and 
was  residing  in  a  house  of  her  own,  when  she 
was  suddenly  interrupted  by  a  visit  from  Mrs. 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  53 

Veal,  as  she  was  sitting  in  deep  contemplation 
of  certain  distresses  of  her  own.  The  visitor 
was  in  a  riding-habit,  and  announced  herself 
as  prepared  for  a  distant  journey  (which  seems 
to  intimate  that  spirits  have  a  considerable 
distance  to  go  before  they  arrive  at  their  ap- 
pointed station,  and  that  the  females  at  least 
put  on  a  hahit  for  the  occasion).  The  spirit, 
for  such  was  the  seeming  Mrs.  Veal,  continued 
to  waive  the  ceremony  of  salutation,  both  in 
going  and  coming,  which  will  remind  the  reader 
of  a  ghostly  lover's  reply  to  his  mistress  in  the 
fine  old  Scottish  ballad: — 

Why  should  I  come  within  thy  bower? 

I  am  no  earthly  man  ; 
And  should  I  kiss  thy  rosy  lips, 

Thy  days  would  not  be  lang", 

They  then  began  to  talk  in  the  homely  style  of 
middle-aged  ladies,  and  Mrs.  Veal  proses  con- 
cerning the  conversations  they  had  formerly 
held,  and  the  books  they  had  read  together. 
Her  very  recent  experience  probably  led  Mrs. 
Veal  to  talk  of  death,  and  the  books  written  on 
the  subject,  and  she  pronounced  ex  cathedra, 
as  a  dead  person  was  best  entitled  to  do,  that 
"Drelincourt's  book  on  Death  was  the  best  book 
on  the  subject  ever  written."  She  also  men- 
tioned Dr.  Sherlock,  two  Dutch  books  which 
had  been  translated,  and  several  others;  but 
Drelincourt,  she  said,  had  the  clearest  notions 
of  death  and  the  future  state  of  any  who  had 
handled  that  subject.  She  then  asked  for  the 
work  (we  marvel  the  edition  and  impress  had 
not  been  mentioned)  and  lectured  on  it  with 
great  eloquence  and  affection.     Dr.  Kenrlck'a 


54  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

Ascetick  was  also  mentioned  with  approbation 
by  this  critical  specter  (the  Doctor's  work  was 
no  doubt  a  tenant  of  the  shelf  in  some  favorite 
publisher's  shop);  and  Mr.  Norris's  Poem  on 
Friendship,  a  work,  which  I  doubt,  though  hon- 
ored with  a  ghost's  approbation,  we  may  now 
seek  for  as  vainly  as  Correlli  tormented  his 
memory  to  recover  the  sonata  which  the  devil 
played  to  him  in  a  dream.  Present^^j'  after,  from 
former  habits  we  may  suppose,  the  guest  desires 
a  cup  of  tea;  but,  bethinking  herself  of  her 
new  character,  escapes  from  her  own  proposal 
by  recollecting  that  Mr.  Bargrave  was  in  the 
habit  of  breaking  his  wife's  china.  It  would 
have  been  indeed  strangely  out  of  character  if 
the  spirit  had  lunched,  or  breakfasted  upon  tea 
and  toast.  Such  a  consummation  would  have 
sounded  as  ridiculous  as  if  the  statue  of  the 
commander  in  Do7i  Juan  had  not  only  accepted 
of  the  invitation  of  the  libertine  to  supper,  but 
had  also  committed  a  beefsteak  to  his  flinty 
jaws  and  stomach  of  adamant.  A  little  more 
conversation  ensued  of  a  less  serious  nature, 
and  tending  to  show  that  even  the  passage  from 
life  to  death  leaves  the  female  anxiety  about 
person  and  dress  somewhat  alive.  The  ghost 
asked  Mrs.  Bargrave  whether  she  did  not  think 
her  very  much  altered,  and  Mrs.  Bargrave  of 
course  complimented  her  on  her  good  looks. 
Mrs.  Bargrave  also  admired  the  gown  which 
Mrs.  Veal  wore,  and  as  a  mark  of  her  perfectly 
restored  confidence,  the  spirit  led  her  into  the 
important  secret,  that  it  was  a  scoured  silk,  and 
lately  made  up.  She  informed  her  also  of  an- 
other secret,  namely,  that  one  Mr.  Breton  had 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  55 

allowed  her  ten  pounds  a  year;  and,  lastly,  she 
requested  that  Mrs.  Bargrave  would  write  to 
her  brother,  and  tell  him  how  to  distribute  her 
mourning  rings,  and  mentioned  there  was  a 
purse  of  gold  in  her  cabinet.  She  expressed 
some  wish  to  see  Mrs.  Bargrave's  daughter;  but 
when  that  good  lady  went  to  the  next  door  to 
seek  her,  she  found  on  her  return  the  guest 
leaving  the  house.  She  had  got  without  the 
door,  in  the  street,  in  the  face  of  the  beast 
market,  on  a  Saturday,  which  is  market  day, 
and  stood  ready  to  part.  She  said  she  must  be 
going,  as  she  had  to  call  upon  her  cousin  Wat- 
son (this  appears  to  be  a  gratis  dictum  on  the 
part  of  the  ghost)  and,  maintaining  the  char- 
acter of  mortality  to  the  last,  she  quietly  turned 
the  corner,  and  walked  out  of  sight. 

Then  came  the  news  of  Mrs.  Veal's  having 
died  the  day  before  at  noon.  Says  Mrs.  Bar- 
grave,  "I  am  sure  she  was  with  me  on  Saturday 
almost  two  hours."  And  in  comes  Captain  Wat- 
son, and  says  Mrs.  Veal  was  certainly  dead. 
And  then  come  all  the  pieces  of  evidence,  and 
especially  the  striped  silk  gown.  Then  Mrs. 
Watson  cried  out,  "You  have  seen  her  indeed, 
for  none  knew  but  Mrs.  Veal  and  I  that  that 
gown  was  scoured";  and  she  cried  that  the 
gown  was  described  exactly,  for,  said  she,  "I 
helped  her  to  make  it  up."  And  next  we  have 
the  silly  attempts  made  to  discredit  the  his- 
tory. Even  Mr.  Veal,  her  brother,  was  obliged 
to  allow  that  the  gold  was  found,  but  with  a 
difference,  and  pretended  it  was  not  found  in 
a  cabinet,  but  elsewhere;  and,  in  short,  we 
have  all  the  gossip  of  says  I,  and  thinks  7,  and 


56  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

says  she,  and  thinks  she,  which  disputed  mat- 
ters usually  excite  in  a  country  town. 

When  we  have  thus  turned  the  tale,  the  seam 
without,  it  may  be  thought  too  ridiculous  to 
have  attracted  notice.  But  whoever  will  read  it 
as  told  by  De  Foe  himself,  will.agree  that,  could 
the  thing  have  happened  in  reality,  so  it  would 
have  been  told.  The  sobering  the  whole  super- 
natural visit  into  the  language  of  the  middle  or 
low  life,  gives  it  an  air  of  probability  even  in 
its  absurdity.  The  ghost  of  an  exciseman's 
housekeeper,  and  a  seamstress,  were  not  to  con- 
verse like  Brutus  with  his  Evil  Genius.  And 
the  circumstances  of  scoured  silks,  broken  tea- 
china,  and  such  like,  while  they  are  the  natural 
topics  of  such  persons'  conversation,  would,  one 
might  have  thought,  be  the  last  which  an  in- 
ventor would  have  introduced  into  a  pretended 
narrative  betwixt  the  dead  and  living.  In  short, 
the  whole  is  so  distinctly  circumstantial,  that, 
were  it  not  for  the  impossibility,  or  extreme  im- 
probability at  least,  of  such  an  occurrence,  the 
evidence  could  not  but  support  the  story. 

The  effect  was  most  wonderful.  'Dfelincourt 
upon  Death,  attested  by  one  who  could  speak 
from  experience,  took  an  unequaled  run.  The 
copies  had  hung  on  the  bookseller's  hands  as 
heavy  as  a  pile  of  lead  bullets.  They  now  tra- 
versed the  town  in  every  direction,  like  the 
same  balls  discharged  from  a  field-piece.  In 
short,  the  subject  of  Mrs.  Veal's  apparition  was 
perfectly  attained. —  (See  The  Miscellaneous 
Prose  Works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Bart.,  vol.  iv. 
p.  305,  ed.  1827.) 


BANSHEES* 

Of  all  Irish  ghosts,  fairies,  or  bogies,  the 
Banshee  (sometimes  called  locally  the  "Boheen- 
tha"  or  "Bankeentha")  is  the  best  known  to 
the  general  public:  indeed,  cross-Channel  visi- 
tors would  class  her  with  pigs,  potatoes,  and 
other  fauna  and  flora  of  Ireland,  and  would 
expect  her  to  make  manifest  her  presence  to 
them  as  being  one  of  the  sights  of  the  country. 
She  is  a  spirit  with  a  lengthy  pedigree — how 
lengthy  no  man  can  say,  as  its  roots  go  back 
into  the  dim,  mysterious  past.  The  most  famous 
Banshee  of  ancient  times  was  that  attached  to 
the  kingly  house  of  O'Brien,  Aibhill,  who 
haunted  the  rock  of  Craglea  above  Killaloe, 
near  the  old  palace  of  Kincora.  In  a.d.  1014 
was  fought  the  battle  of  Clontarf,  from  which 
the  aged  king,  Brian  Boru,  knew  that  he  would 
never  come  away  alive,  for  the  previous  night 
Aibhill  had  appeared  to  him  to  tell  him  of  his 
impending  fate.  The  Banshee's  method  of  fore- 
telling death  in  olden  times  differed  from  that 
adopted  by  her  at  the  present  day:  now  she 
wails  and  wrings  her  hands,  as  a  general  rule, 
but  in  the  old  Irish  tales  she  is  to  be  found 
washing  human  heads  and  limbs,  or  blood- 
stained clothes,  till  the  water  is  all  dyed  with 
human  blood — this  would  take  place  before  a 
battle.  So  it  would  seem  that  in  the  course  of 
centuries  her  attributes  and  characteristics 
have  changed  somewhat. 

Very  different  descriptions  are  given  of  her 

•From  "True  Irish  Ghost  Stories." 


58  GREAT   GHOST  STORIES 

personal  appearance.  Sometimes  she  is  young 
and  beautiful,  sometimes  old  and  of  a  fearsome 
appearance.  One  writer  describes  her  as  "a 
tall,  thin  woman  with  uncovered  head,  and  long 
hair  that  floated  round  her  shoulders,  attired 
in  something  which  seemed  either  a  loose  white 
cloak,  or  a  sheet  thrown  hastily  around  her, 
uttering  piercing  cries."  Another  person,  a 
coachman,  saw  her  one  evening  sitting  on  a 
sti'^v  in  the  yard;  she  seemed  to  be  a  very  small 
woman,  with  blue  eyes,  long  light  hair,  and 
wearing  a  red  cloak.  Other  descriptions  will 
be  found  in  this  chapter.  By  the  Avay,  it  does 
not  seem  to  be  true  that  the  Banshee  exclu- 
sivel:^  follows  families  of  Irish  descent,  for  the 
last  incident  had  reference  to  the  death  of  a 
member  of  a  Co.  Galway  family  English  by 
name  and  origin. 

One  of  the  oldest  and  best-known  Banshee 
stories  is  that  related  in  the  Memoirs  of  Lady 
Fanshaw.*  In  1642  her  husband,  Sir  Richard, 
and  she  chanced  to  visit  a  friend,  the  head  of 
an  Irish  sept,  who  resided  in  his  ancient  bar- 
onial castle,  surrounded  with  a  moat.  At  mid- 
night she  was  awakened  by  a  ghastly  and  super- 
natural scream,  and  looking  out  of  bed,  beheld 
in  the  moonlight  a  female  face  and  part  of  the 
form  hovering  at  the  window.  The  distance 
from  the  ground,  as  well  as  the  circumstance 
of  the  moat,  excluded  the  possibility  that  v/hat 
she  beheld  was  of  this  world.  The  face  was 
that  of  a  young  and  rather  handsome  woman, 
but  pale,  and  the  hair,  which  was  reddish,  was 


♦Scott's  Lady  of  the  Lake,  notes  to  Canto  111 
(edition  of  1811). 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  50 

loose  and  disheveled.  The  dress,  which  Lady 
Fanshaw's  terror  did  not  prevent  her  remark- 
ing accurately,  was  that  of  the  ancient  Irish. 
This  apparition  continued  to  exhibit*  Itself  for 
some  time,  and  then  vanished  with  two  shrieks 
similar  to  that  which  had  firsf  excited  Lady 
Fanshaw's  attention.  In  the  morning,  with  in- 
finite terror,  she  communicated  to  her  host 
what  she  had  witnessed,  and  found  him  pre- 
pared not  only  to  credit,  but  to  account  for  the 
superstition.  "A  near  relation  of  my  family," 
said  he,  "expired  last  night  in  this  castle.  We 
disguised  our  certain  expectation  of  the  event 
from  you,  lest  it  should  throw  a  cloud  over  the 
cheerful  reception  which  was  your  due.  Now, 
before  such  an  event  happens  in  this  family  or 
castle,  the  female  specter  whom  you  have  seen 
is  always  visible.  She  is  believed  to  be  the 
spirit  of  a  woman  of  inferior  rank,  \/hom  one 
of  my  ancestors  degraded  himself  by  marrying, 
and  whom  afterwards,  to  expiate  the  dishonor 
done  to  his  family,  he  caused  to  be  drowned  in 
the  moat."  In  strictness  this  woman  could 
hardly  be  termed  a  Banshee.  The  motive  for 
the  haunting  is  akin  to  that  in  the  tale  of  the 
Scotch  "Drummer  of  Cortachy,"  where  the 
spirit  of  the  murdered  man  haunts  the  family 
out  of  revenge,  and  appears  before  a  death. 

Mr.  T.  J.  Westropp,  M.  A.,  has  furnished  the 
following  story:  "My  maternal  grandmother 
heard  the  following  tradition  from  her  mother, 
one  of  the  Miss  Ross-Lewins,  who  witnessed  the 
occurrence.  Their  father,  Mr.  Harrison  Ross- 
Lewin,  was  away  in  Dublin  on  law  business, 
and  in  his  absence  the  young  people  went  off 


60  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

to  sperd  the  evening  with  a  friend  who  lived 
some  miles  away.  The  night  was  tine  and 
lightsome  as  they  were  returning,  save  at  one 
point  where  the  road  ran  between  trees*of  high 
hedges  not  far  to  the  west  of  the  old  church 
of  Kilchrist.  The  latter,  like  many  similar 
ruins,  was  a  simple  oblong  building,  with  long 
side-walls  and  high  gables,  and  at  that  time  it 
and  its  graveyard  were  unenclosed,  and  lay  in 
the  open  fields.  As  the  party  passed  down  the 
long  dark  lane  they  suddenly  heard  in  the  dis- 
tance loud  keening  and  clapping  of  hands,  as 
the  country-people  were  accustomed  to  do  when 
lamenting  the  dead.  The  Ross-Lewins  hurried 
on,  and  came  in  sight  of  the  church,  on  the 
side  vail  of  which  a  little  gray-haired  old 
woman,  clad  in  a  dark  cloak,  was  running  to 
and  fro,  chanting  and  walling,  and  throwing 
up  her  arms.  The  girls  were  very  frightened, 
but  the  young  men  ran  forward  and  surrounded 
the  ruin,  and  two  of  them  went  into  the  church, 
the  apparition  vanishing  from  the  wall  as  they 
did  so.  They  searched  every  nook,  and  found 
no  one,  nor  did  any  one  pass  out.  All  were 
now  well  scared,  and  got  home  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible. On  reaching  their  home  their  mother 
opened  the  door,  and  at  once  told  them  that 
she  was  in  terror  about  their  father,  for,  as 
she  cat  looking  out  the  window  in  the  moon- 
light, a  huge  raven  with  fiery  eyes  lit  on  the 
sill,  and  tapped  three  times  on  the  glass.  They 
told  her  their  story,  which  only  added  to  their 
anxiety,  and  as  they  stood  talking,  taps  came 
to  the  nearest  window,  and  they  saw  the  bird 
again.     A  few  days  later  news  reached  them 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  61 

that    Mr.    Ross-Lewin    had    died    suddenly    in 
Dublin.    This  occurred  about  1776." 

Mr.  Westropp  also  v/rites  that  the  sister  of 
a  former  Roman  Catholic  Bishop  told  his  sis- 
ters that  when  she  was  a  little  girl  she  went 
out  one  evening  with  some  other  children  for 
a  walk.  Going  down  the  road,  they  passed  the 
gate  of  the  principal  demesne  near  the  town. 
There  was  a  rock,  or  large  stone,  beside  the 
road,  on  which  they  saw  something.  Going 
nearer,  they  perceived  it  to  be  a  little  dark, 
old  woman,  who  began  crying  and  clapping  her 
hands.  Some  of  them  attempted  to  speak  to 
her,  but  got  frightened,  and  all  finally  ran 
home  as  quickly  as  they  could.  Next  day  the 
news  came  that  the  gentleman  near  whose  gate 
the  Banshee  had  cried,  was  dead,  and  it  was 
found  on  inquiry  that  he  had  died  at  the  very 
hour  at  which  the  children  had  seen  the  specter. 

A  lady  who  is  a  relation  of  one  of  the  com- 
pilers, and  a  member  of  a  Co.  Cork  family  of 
English  descent,  sends  the  two  following  ex- 
periences of  a  Banshee  in  her  family.  "My 
mother,  when  a  young  girl,  was  standing  look- 
ing out  of  the  window  in  their  house  at  Black- 
rock,  near  Cork.  She  suddenly  saw  a  white 
figure  standing  on  a  bridge  which  was  easily 
visible  from  the  house.  The  figure  waved  her 
arms  toward  the  house,  but  my  mother  heard 
the  bitter  wailing  of  the  Banshee.  It  lasted 
some  seconds,  and  then  the  figure  disappeared. 
Next  morning  my  grandfather  was  walking  as 
usual  into  the  city  of  Cork.  He  accidentally 
fell,  hit  his  head  against  the  curbstone,  and 
never  recovered  consciousness. 


62  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

"In  March,  1900,  my  mother  was  very  ill,  and 
one  evening  the  nurse  and  I  were  with  her  ar- 
ranging her  bed.  We  suddenly  heard  the  most 
extraordinary  wailing,  which  seemed  to  come 
in  waves  round  and  under  her  bed.  We  nat- 
urally looked  everywhere  to  try  and  find  the 
cause,  but  in  vain.  The  nurse  and  I  looked  at 
one  another,  but  made  no  remark,  as  my  mother 
did  not  seem  to  hear  it.  My  sister  was  down- 
stairs sitting  with  my  father.  She  heard  it, 
and  thought  some  terrible  thing  had  happened 
to  her  little  boy,  who  was  in  bed  upstairs.  She 
rusned  up,  and  found  him  sleeping  quietly.  My 
father  did  not  hear  it.  In  the  house  next  door 
they  heard"  it,  and  ran  downstairs,  thinking 
something  had  happened  to  the  servant;  but 
the  latter  at  once  said  to  them,  'Did  you  hear 
the  Banshee?    Mrs.  P must  be  dying.' " 

A  few  years  ago  (i.  e.  before  1894)  a  curious 
incident  occurred  in  a  public  school  in  connec- 
tion with  the  belief  in  the  Banshee.  One  of  the 
boys,  happening  to  become  ill,  was  at  once 
placed  in  a  room  by  himself,  where  he  used 
to  sit  all  day.  On  one  occasion,  as  he  was  being 
visited  by  the  doctor,  he  suddenly  started  from 
his  seat,  and  affirmed  that  he  heard  somebody 
crying.  The  doctor,  of  course,  who  could  hear 
or  see  nothing,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
illness  had  slightly  affected  his  brain.  How- 
ever, the  boy,  who  appeared  quite  sensible,  still 
persisted  that  he  heard  some  one  crying,  and 
furthermore  said,  "It  is  the  Banshee,  as  I  have 
heard  it  before."  The  following  morning  the 
head-master  received  a  telegram  saying   that 


GREAT  GHOST  STORIES  ^'.^ 

the  boy's  brother  had  been  accidentally  shot 
dead.* 

That  the  Banshee  is  not  confined  within  the 
geographical  limits  of  Ireland,  but  that  she 
can  follow  the  fortunes  of  a  family  abroad,  and 
there  foretell  their  death,  is  clearly  shown  by 
the  following  story.  A  party  of  visitors  were 
gathered  together  on  the  deck  of  a  private 
yacht  on  one  of  the  Italian  lakes,  and  during 
a  lull  in  the  conversation  one  of  them,  a 
Colonel,  said  to  the  owner,  "Count,  who's  thpt 
queer-looking  woman  you  have  on  board?"  The 
Count  replied  that  there  was  nobody  except  the 
ladies  present,  and  the  stewardess,  but  the 
speaker  protested  that  he  was  correct,  and  sud- 
denly, with  a  scream  af  terror,  he  placed  his 
hands  before  his  eyes,  and  exclaimed,  "Oh,  my 
God,  what  a  face!"  For  some  time  he  was  over- 
come with  terror,  and  at  length  reluctantly" 
looked  up,  and  cried: 

"Thank  Heavens,  it's  gone!" 

"What  was  it?"  asked  the  Count. 

"Nothing  human,"  replied  the  Colonel— ^ 
"nothing  belonging  to  this  world.  It  was  a 
woman  of  no  earthly  type,  with  a  queer-shaped, 
gleaming  face,  a  mass  of  red  hair,  and  eyes 
that  would  have  been  beautiful  but  for  their 
expression,  which  was  hellish.  She  had  on  a 
green  hood,  after  the  fashion  of  an  Irish 
peasant." 

An  American  lady  present  suggested  that  the 
description  tallied  with  that  of  the  Banshee, 
upon  which  the  Count  said: 


>A.  G.  Bradley,  Notes  on  some  Irish  Stip&rsti'^ 
iions,  p.  9. 


34  GREAT  GHOST  STORIES 

*1  am  an  O'Neill — at  least  I  am  descended 
from  one.  My  family  name  is,  as  you  know, 
Neilsini,  which,  little  more  than  a  century  ago, 
was  O'Neill.  My  great-grandfather  served  in 
the  Irish  Brigade,  and  on  its  dissolution  at  the 
time  of  the  French  Revolution  had  the  good 
fortune  to  escape  the  general  massacre  of  offi- 
cers, and  in  company  with  an  O'Brien  and  a 
Maguire  fled  across  the  frontier  and  settled  in 
Italy.  On  his  death  his  son,  who  had  been  born 
in  Italy,  and  was  far  more  Italian  than  Irish, 
changed  his  name  to  Neilsini,  by  which  name 
the  family  has  been  known  ever  since.  But  for 
all  that  we  are  Irish." 

"The  Banshee  was  yours,  then!"  ejaculated 
the  Colonel.     "What  exactly  does  it  mean?" 

"It  means,"  the  Count  replied  solemnly,  "the 
death  of  some  one  very  nearly  associated  with 
me.  Pray  Heaven  it  is  not  my  wife  or  daugh- 
ter." 

On  that  score,  however,  his  anxiety  was 
speedily  removed,  for  within  two  hours  he  was 
seized  with  a  violent  attack  of  angina  pectoris, 
and  died  before  morning.* 

Mr.  Elliott  O'Donnell,  to  whose  article  on 
"Banshees"  we  are  indebted  for  the  above, 
adds:  "The  Banshee  never  manifests  itself  to 
the  person  whose  death  it  is  prognosticating. 
Other  people  may  see  or  hear  it,  but  the  fated 
one  never,  so  that  when  every  one  present  is 
aware  of  it  but  one,  the  fate  of  that  one  may 
be  regarded  as  pretty  well  certain." 


*Occult  Review  for  September,  1913. 


